


Emerald Roses

by MystyVander



Series: Emerald Roses [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Holiday, M/M, Romance, Smut, Switching, Valentine's
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-09
Updated: 2015-05-31
Packaged: 2018-03-11 07:26:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 26,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3319049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MystyVander/pseuds/MystyVander
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Seeing an enemy after so many years can be confusing, especially when that so-called enemy won't stop hitting on you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My second ever one-shot, written to celebrate the lovely hallmark holiday; Valentine's Day. I hope this gets you in the mood for, er, chocolate. Slash warning, as well as some heavy smut, and profanity. Enjoy!

Crisp snow crunched beneath his heavy falling footsteps. Though it hadn’t fallen in days, the grounds were still blanketed white as far as one could see. An eagle owl, dark grey with flecked brown feathers, soared overhead savoring the wind pushing against its wings. Two dull, emerald eyes squinted against the sun, trying to follow the owls every dip and dive.

“Dad! Mum’s here!” a small voice called across the yard from inside the small cottage.

Sighing, Harry Potter pressed his fingers in between his chapped lips and whistled to the owl who immediately altered its path to return to her companion. Stroking her gently, she cooed as she perched herself on her masters arm. “You can come back out in a minute, Pinna, it’s time to say goodbye to James.”

The small cottage was cluttered on the inside, unlike its expansive and empty grounds. Ever since Ginny had moved out Harry hadn’t ever made an attempt on organization. It was mostly old copies of the Daily Prophet or work reports strewn about but Harry nor James minded the mess and it was all that seemed to matter. “Did you get Artemus?” Harry asked James, the thin, short boy who was waiting for him in the kitchen with spectacles that matched Harry’s own.

James rolled his eyes. “I’m eight, Dad,” he said exasperatedly.

Harry grinned at his son half-heartedly. “Yes. And did big eight year old Jamesy remember to pack his dragon?”

Cheeks turning red he nodded and muttered, “Yeah.”

Harry ruffled his fine, unruly hair. The boy was nearly a spitting image of Harry, other than the eyes, he had Ginny’s eyes. “Good. Now say goodbye to Pinna before she loses a feather over being indoors again,” Harry instructed as he knelt to his son’s level and held out the owl. James patted her head and long feathers a few times and whispered something inaudible before Pinna took it upon herself to hoot and take off, back through the ajar kitchen window into the brisk February winter.

James hugged his father tightly, his face automatically buried in his chest. Harry held him, his hand stroking his hair much like he did to Pinna. “Ginny, you can come out of the drawing room, y’know,” Harry stated loudly enough for his ex-wife to hear as he let go of James. “Go on then, get your things.”

“But dad, my things are _so_ heavy!” James whinnied.

Harry patted him on the back, “Yes, but you’re eight now, surely an eight your old can do it,” he mocked.

Grumbling in defeat James dragged himself upstairs to his room. Ginny came slowly into the kitchen, her red hair perfectly straightened and falling well below her shoulders. He always preferred it when she let her hair down instead of putting it in that horrible bun she wore to work. “You look beautiful as ever, Gin,” Harry greeted truthfully.

“And you look…tired,” she admitted, giving him a quick, slackened embrace. “How’s work?”

Harry shrugged as he took a seat at his small, table which had surely seen better days. “Busy, as always. You know, just when you think you’ve seen it all you get a ring about a serial transfigurer who keeps transfiguring muggle’s pets into shoes,” he drawled.

Ginny laughed and Harry was momentarily reminded how nice it was to see her happy again. “How is Dean and Delilah?”

“Dean’s good. The nursery is coming along, thanks mostly to Neville. And Delilah is growing like a mandrake, well, you know how it was with James,” Ginny smiled softly. It did seem like just yesterday the two were happily newlywed with a screaming, bundle of joy they had no idea what to do with in their arms.

James came heaving his duffle bag down the stairs. “Ready, James? Got Artemus?” Harry asked, James nodding. 

Ginny pointed her wand at the bag, levitating it to her side and out of her son’s hands. “I guess I will see you in a week, Harry.”

“See you, Gin. Now James, you better behave over there and listen to your mother, okay? Absolutely _no_ Weasley products aloud.” James nodded, hugging his father once more. “I’ll miss you, kiddo.”

“You too, Daddy.”

Once they were gone through the Floo, with Pinna still roaming the landscape probably finding a branch to rest on, Harry went upstairs to wash up for dinner. He was going out with Ron and Hermione, who had left their two children with Molly as they did every Sunday evening. Other than James, Sunday evenings with his friends was the only thing he had to really look forward to. As Harry caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror he couldn’t help but to agree with Ginny. He did look tired. His eyes were sunken in, his skin had an odd, grey tinge to it, the wrinkles around his eyes were increasing every day and his round glasses too small for his face didn’t help his case. Even when he cracked a smile he looked truly miserable – as he had for the past seven years.

Despite no real notes of happiness in his life other than his son, Ron and Hermione, Harry was content. He had more than enough finances, he was the head of his department, and other than the rare article the Daily Prophet and the public generally left him alone. But amidst all of that, something was missing. Or perhaps someone. He felt it on long nights, or on Christmas Eve, or on nice summer days as he flew alone in his field when James wasn’t around to practice with him.

As the sun set, Harry went through the Floo to the Leaky Cauldron. He caught a short drink with the ever-aging barkeep, Tom, before venturing out into muggle London. The three always preferred to meet in a muggle area so that they could remain generally undisturbed. It was only a couple of blocks from the Leaky Cauldron and Harry didn’t mind the walk, even in the brisk winter air.

When he arrived at Riley’s Restaurant, he immediately recognized Ron’s faded red hair amongst the scarce, Sunday evening crowd. “Harry!” Hermione called, standing up to hug him briefly before he joined them, squeezing Ron’s shoulder as he did. It took no time for them to revert to what they always did; the three inseparable friends. They gushed over the happenings of their weeks, even though Ron and Harry worked in the same department they rarely saw one another. They talked about the kids, George’s expanding franchise, Neville, Dean and Blaise’s nursery as well as some of the new drafts for the Chudley Canons.

It was during their dessert, accompanied with many cups of coffee that Hermione brought up the dreaded weekly topic. “It’s Valentine’s Day this Thursday,” she stated, acquiescing a groan from both men.

“I’ve got you something this year, love, I promise!” Ron assured her.

Hermione rolled her eyes and leaned across the table towards Harry. “Have you got any plans? Other than work,” she quickly added.

“Yeah, isn’t it Gin’s week to have James? Got a hot date, mate?” Ron grinned, relieved the pressure was off of him.

Harry sighed as he pushed his cherry cake around his plate before shoving the whole thing away, suddenly losing his appetite. “You know I haven’t.”

Hermione and Ron exchanged looks before she addressed him seriously. “You can’t keep going with this ban on dating.”

“After what happened the last few times, sure I can,” Harry said defiantly, chugging the bottom of his now cold Irish coffee. “Plus, I’ve got Pinna and James, that’s all I need.”

“A bird and a part-time kid. Mate, that’s not even close to enough. You can’t let a couple of bad experiences stop you from getting out there. Look at Blaise! The man attracts the oddest sort and he _still_ has a date every week, at least!” Ron exclaimed as Harry snorted in thought at their friend’s colleagues dating choices.

Hermione was nodding in agreement. “Ron’s right. I know there’s something like this out there for you,” she emphasized, squeezing her husband’s hand on top of the table. Suddenly she perked up, “Oh, I know! That girl Nev started getting bulbs from, Celena! I could set you up with her, surely!”

Harry quickly shook his head dismissively, “Too young.”

“What about that new Sebastian bloke in our office?” Ron offered.

Although Harry was pleased his friends accepted his mixed orientation, he still didn’t like their tireless attempt at playing his personal match makers. “Work place date? No thanks,” Harry said shortly.

“Hey ‘Mione, what about Mat?” Ron asked slowly, turning to his wife. Now that the dating conversation was in full force, Harry began to attempt to catch the attention of their waitress for the bill.

“Mat, yes! That would be perfect! Oh Harry, he’s such a wonderful man. He’s a carpenter who just got out of a long relationship a few months ago, he’s a very quiet guy. Cute too, I promise!” Hermione assured him.

Harry slouched, there was nothing he could say was wrong with Mat. “Muggle, I presume?” Hermione and Ron both eagerly nodded. “Fine,” he breathed, much to his friend’s excitement.

‘I know they mean well but I’m…content being alone,’ he thought to himself, unable to bring himself to even think of feeling happy.

* * *

 

_Tuesday February 12 th, 2011_

With lowered expectations, Harry was getting out of this date the same amount he was regretfully putting in. Mat was nice, although a little awkward and dull. Being a man of few words himself, not much was being said between them. They were at an Italian restaurant across the street from Riley’s, waiting on their dinners to be served. Mat drank white wine, Harry rye on the rocks.

“So, Hermione tells me you have a kid,” he said, desperately attempting to start a conversation.

“Mhm,” was all Harry could respond with, he didn’t want to talk about James on a date.

Mat shifted in his seat, fingering his wine glass. “You weren’t always gay then?”

The bluntness of the question surprised Harry as he looked Mat over again. He was a good looking fellow but that’s as far as it went for him. “I’m not gay,” he stated after a pause.

Mat leaned forward in his chair, befuddled. “You’re bisexual?”

Harry felt increasingly uncomfortable at the inquiries, he took another gulp of the rye and it stung his throat. “I guess.”

The waiter appeared with their salads, ‘Thank Merlin,’ Harry thought. Nearly two forkfuls into it Mat lunged across the table as his hand reached out and clung to Harry’s causing his fork to clatter to the bowl. When he looked up at Mat he appeared wild and frantic.

“Talk to me. Kiss me. Something!” He mumbled quickly, shaking, his eyes kept darting to just behind Harry’s head.

Turning in his seat, ignoring Mat’s protests, Harry followed his line of sight to the bar where there stood leaning against it… “No,” Harry stated in disbelief, turning back to Mat. “How do you know-“

“That’s Craig. We went out last week and, well, we sort of…” Mat trailed off blushing but Harry clearly understood. “He never called me back and the number he gave me was the Central Hospital!”

Harry’s head was spinning, he hung it low in hopes Draco Malfoy wouldn’t recognize him. ‘What’s he doing in a muggle restaurant? Malfoy’s GAY?! Why is he calling himself Craig?’ the questions bombarded Harry endlessly. “Let’s go, please, before he - dammit! He’s seen me,” Mat huffed, his sweaty palm still enclosed over Harry’s knuckles.

Sure enough within a few moments there was a third party to their date, his hand leaning on the table as he inclined himself towards Mat. Harry chanced looking up and his breath caught in his throat. Wearing a long, buttoned jacket with a grey dress shirt and black slacks, Malfoy looked fantastic in muggle clothing; his hair fell effortlessly around his pointed features as his thin lips drew into a smirk. “Mathieu,” he greeted softly.

“Craig,” came the stiff response.

Before being able to stop himself, still in a daze, Harry spoke up. “Malfoy.”

Even without being able to see his face it was obvious in his rigid posture that Malfoy was dumb stricken.

“Malfoy? What’s that?” Mat inquired, studying the quizzical look on Craig’s face.

Straightening up and adjusting his coat, Malfoy slowly turned to Harry, looking down his nose at him, his smirk widening and grey eyes sparkling. “Lucky me, if it isn’t the golden boy.”

Harry scowled, ‘Same old Malfoy,’ he thought bitterly. “You two know each other?” Mat asked flabbergasted, his hand finally falling from Harry’s. “Did you sleep with him, too?!”

Uncharacteristically, Malfoy barked with laughter at the comment. Harry bit down his embarrassment and turned away from them, raising his now empty glass desperately gesturing at their waiter for a refill. Wiping away crocodile tears, calming his sharp laughter, Malfoy crossed his arms. Mat was demanding how they knew one another as Malfoy pinned Harry to his chair with his gaze. As the waiter brought Harry another rye, his Gryffindor courage came with it. “Dating muggles now Malfoy? Funny, I assumed you thought they were beneath you,” he sneered.

“Muggle? What the hell-“

“Pureblood, muggle, mudblood, as long as they’re not a eunuch it’s all the same,” Malfoy shrugged uncaringly.

Harry twitched at the blatant use of the derogatory term. “You still talk and act like a purist prat,” he said lowly, gesturing at the flustered Mat.

Malfoy raised his brow, his smirk still prominent. “What, are you jealous, Potter?”

Scoffing, Harry gulped his rye. The blubbering muggle shakily stood from his seat. “I-I have to go, this is too weird. I’m sorry, Harry, you seem like a nice guy but I can’t be around _him,”_ Mat apologized.

“Oh, he’s the nicest,” Malfoy drawled and for the first time in a long while, Harry had to suppress the urge to hit him.

“Goodbye Harry. Craig,” Mat spat, grabbing his jacket and storming out of the restaurant.

Before Harry could scowl or shoo Malfoy away, he was joining him at the table, settling into Mat’s spot. “How is the family, Potter?”

“Get bent,” Harry snapped.

Chuckling, Malfoy leaned over the table and took Mat’s half-full wine glass, playing with the stem between his fingers. He sipped it experimentally, pulling a face as he did. “Mat was a good lay but that’s about all he is good for. The poor sod even has a wretched taste in wine. Sir?” Malfoy called, capturing the closest waiter’s attention.

“Yes, Mr. Malfoy?”

‘Of bloody course he knows his name,’ Harry grumbled to himself, overpowering the urge to draw his wand on his old, imposing classmate.

“Fetch some good wine if you would. Chilean carmenere would be swell,” he instructed, the server inclined his head and hurried off to retrieve it. “A rich carmenere goes with any-“

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Harry finally ground out, startling the tables nearby.

Malfoy propped his elbows on the table, leaning so far forward he invaded Harry’s space, his hands folded together and covering his triumphant grin. “Let’s not let a good evening go to waste, shall we? Hogwarts was a very long time ago, Potter. How long has it been? Ah, I do believe the last time I have seen you was when you and that Weasley were still married. At the ministry ball, you know Potter, the one that commemorated _your_ victory.”

Harry took in a deep, strained breath. Malfoy had been acquitted after the war and lived what appeared to be an honest life since. He too had married, divorced and had a son the same age as James. “Scorpius,” Harry mumbled aloud, remembering the Malfoy heir’s name.

“Yes, that is my son’s name. He is doing splendidly – at his mother’s estate in France at the moment, thank you for asking. Ah, thank you. I think another drink on my friend’s behalf is needed as well,” Malfoy said, gesturing to the already nearly empty glass of Harry’s.

“And the meal, sir?” the waiter asked.

Malfoy waved his hand uncaringly. “Whatever that man ordered will suffice,” he turned his attention fully to Harry now after a satisfying sip of his wine.

“Trying to get me drunk, Malfoy?” Harry grumbled.

Without skipping a beat Malfoy responded, “So what if I am?”

The colour drained from Harry’s face. It had been so long since he had seen his former classmate and at the moment he was finding it particularly difficult to wrap his head around him. “You can relax, Potter, I’m not here out of malicious intent,” he put his hands up in mock demonstration.

“Why are you here, then?” he asked petulantly. Harry felt as though Malfoy was intruding; this was his date, all be it a horrible one, it was still his. He was thankful that it had been interrupted but would never admit it – even to himself. The fresh glass of rye arrived and Harry wasted no time to gulp a large proportion of it, it was currently the only thing keeping him from hitting the smug look off of Malfoy’s face. “And how do you get such fast service? Mat and I were waiting at least fifteen minutes to be served.”

Malfoy’s mouth curled bemusedly at the corners as he swirled the wine around its glass. His grey eyes pierced Harry. ‘He always looks so intense.’ “It’s always in good nature to kiss the arse of the owner of the establishment who employs you,” he drawled.

Harry blinked a few times. “You own a _muggle_ restaurant? What the bloody hell for? Do they know? I thought you were an accountant of sorts.”

“Money is money, Potter, it doesn’t matter where it comes from. Not to mention the current exchange rate is rather beneficial to an investor such as myself.” Malfoy took a sip of his wine, holding the glass momentarily in front of his lips afterwards. “An accountant? Of sorts. I acquire assets, work their books till they are making me a substantial profit and then acquire more assets. I thought it was time the Malfoy name made its debut in the muggle business world. And no, Potter, of course they don’t know.”

Without thinking Harry corrected him, “It’s Harry.” Malfoy raised his eyebrow, smirking devilishly. “Potter reminds me of work and I’d rather not think about that on a night off,” he elaborated.

Malfoy set his glass down on the table and leaned forward on his elbows, his hair fell around his flawless skin, and Harry was made painstakingly aware of how small their table was. Malfoy was so far forward that their knees bumped, he was smirking still and Harry could feel his face growing unnecessarily warm. “ _Harry_ , then, you have always been welcome to use my name.”

Harry turned a darker shade and although he wanted to he couldn’t tear himself away from the intense gaze across the table. ‘Since when has Malfoy been so...charismatic?’ “Which one: Craig or Draco?”

Malfoy laughed a real unguarded laugh. It was startling, almost musical, and Harry felt his ears go red at the sound of it. “For you? Draco. So, _Harry_ , how goes the Auror department?”

Despite wanting, direly hoping, to stay calm and collected, Harry spluttered into his drink and coughed it up again. The way Malfoy had said, ‘For you? Draco’ kept playing in his head, the slight seductive undertone of it. “Fine. Work is work, let’s not talk about work.”

“Oh? So you _do_ want to talk to me just not about work? I never thought the day would come when the great Harry Potter would actually want my company,” Malfoy mused, leaning back in his chair much to Harry’s relief, looking away only briefly from Harry to sip his wine.

Seven shades of red, Harry kicked himself underneath the table. “Why do you even wanna sit and talk to me, Malfoy? I’d rather just eat and leave,” he grumbled.

Shrugging in his seat, Malfoy took up Mat’s discarded fork and without thought began to eat it – did he have no shame? – savoring the rich salad. “It’s been awhile. Other than Blaise and Pansy, I rarely see anybody from school these days. Hogwarts, as I said, was a long time ago. Besides, I’m never one to turn down attractive company.” If Harry thought he couldn’t get more embarrassed, he was wrong. ‘My ears must be bleeding. For a second there it sounded like Malfoy called me attractive.’ “No work then, I promise. No kids either, apparently. I guess that means your darling ex-wife is off the table, too?”

“How about you tell me what you did to Mat, let’s start with that,” Harry suggested icily, finally regaining some of his composure.

Malfoy raised his eyebrows. “I met Mathieu last week at that lovely coffee shop over on Albert Street. I took him out that evening, brought him home and well, Harry, would you really like me to go into detail here? If you’re into that sort of thing, I could, if you wanted me to,” he lowered his voice drastically, his eyes burning into Harry.

“Shut up, Malfoy,” Harry spat in return, though not as venomously as he wanted it to sound.

“Mathieu was well enough in the bedroom and he was cute. He is not, however, the type of man I would date,” Malfoy explained.

“Not your type? Why, because he’s muggle?” Harry snapped.

“Not at all. He’s just rather, boring, isn’t he?”

Harry certainly couldn’t argue with that. Mat was boring, inexcusably so. And even though he was attractive he had no defining qualities, nothing that drew Harry in, and from the moment he had picked him up for their date he knew it wasn’t going to end well. “Still, you can’t just sleep with somebody and not call them back.”

“Oh, I can’t, can I? Sorry, Harry, my morals are not as pristine as your holiness.”

Harry scowled at him but he realized he had no right to be judging Malfoy. He too had slept with a man and not called him back, it happens. It happens more often than he’d care to admit. It’s happened to him as well, and it may have hurt but he got over it; he understood it.

By the time their meals came, the uneasy feeling began to slowly seep away from Harry. He learned a lot about Draco – since he refused to be silent – like his line of work, mainly investing and public relations, and his son. Scorpius sounded like a quiet, reformed replica of his father and for some reason the thought of that amused Harry. “Astoria was _furious_ with me for letting Scorp use my wand. The way I see it, the more exposure he gets now the more adjusted he will be in his eleventh year.”

Harry bit his tongue, idly thinking of James’ knack for wandless, temperamental magic just like himself as a child. Instead he carefully treaded in what he would assume were dangerous waters. “How does it work with Astoria? I mean, with Ginny, it’s always a little awkward. I think because she knows I’m alone she assumes I’m unhappy, but I’m not. I’m glad she found Dean and I’m grateful for James,” he rambled, blushing. He didn’t want Malfoy to feel he was imposing too much and it wasn’t often that he had the opportunity to speak with somebody in a similar situation.

If Malfoy was surprised at his openness, he didn’t show it. “Our marriage was arranged by politics and we both knew this from the start. We got what we wanted from the marriage; an heir. She was also rather pleased with her association to my name,” he explained, pushing the remains of his Bolognese around with his fork distractedly. “Besides, a marriage where one of the parties wholly swings the other way is a difficult one,” he grinned across the table.

The solidification of his orientation had Harry squirming uncomfortably in his seat and he couldn’t explain why. It certainly wasn’t because he was interested. Definitely not intrigued whatsoever about Malfoy in _that way_. “Marc, is it?” Malfoy gestured at the server of a nearby table who hurried to his employer’s side.

“Yes, Mr. Malfoy, sir?”

“Would you please be a dear and bring my final course? Finished, _Harry_?” Malfoy queried, smiling brilliantly at him. That smile didn’t make Harry’s heart skip a beat because it was beautiful, no not at all, but because it was Malfoy smiling. Yes, that must be it.

Nodding and regaining himself, Harry folded his napkin in his lap. “Coffee, too, please,” he said. Marc nodded and hurried away with their plates.

“Coffee? At ten at night?” Malfoy questioned.

Harry gave a start at the mention of the time, checking his watch. Had he really just spent that past hour and a half talking amicably with Malfoy? Also, dare he think it, enjoying himself? “I hate Flooing after drinking,” he elucidated. “And what’s with this third course?”

“The finest crème brulee accompanied with chocolate mousse you will ever find in London, honest. You simply cannot leave here without tasting it.” He leaned forward again in his seat, finishing his wine as he did. “Your turn, Harry. What could ever break apart you from marital bliss with a Weasley? Perhaps you choose the wrong sex from the lot of them?” he teased.

Harry resisted the welling urge to kick him and turned his attention instead to his empty place setting. “She was happy, we both were. But, after the war was the first time I had to really be myself, I finally had some time to think, and I, er, discovered some things about myself. When I told her, she didn’t take it too well. James was about one at the time and she left us for a little bit, she had to think. When she was gone I realized that I didn’t miss her all that much, only as much as a brother would miss a sister. She was staying at Ron and Hermione’s and one night they had some friends over, including Dean. When she told me what happened between the two of them a week later, I wasn’t mad. How could I be? She deserved better than me, anyway,” he explained, sighing at the end of it.

To his surprise, Malfoy listened to him attentively, as if he was actually interested, and for some reason he really was. “Deserved better than the great savior?” he returned at last, only a bit of playfulness to his tone.

“Everybody deserves somebody who loves them in that way and I couldn’t give her that. She couldn’t give me that, either. Besides, I don’t think there really is anybody out there that could love me like that,” Harry wanted to hit himself for admitting that so openly to Malfoy. Instead, he unfolded the napkin in his lap and folded it once more.

Malfoy was frowning now, his eyebrows stitched together. “For some like ourselves, Harry, it just takes longer to find that person. But they’re there, somewhere, waiting,” he said softly after a long moment.

The kindness of his voice, how genuine he sounded, the sincerity he looked across the table at Harry with had Harry’s breath caught in his throat. Thankfully, the gods must have heard Harry’s silent prayers, the dessert came and Harry had to admit it looked absolutely delectable. He drank his coffee, sighing in relief as it washed over his system suppressing the trace of liquor. “Mm, I always forget how lovely this crème brulee is,” Malfoy muttered to himself, taking a spoonful of it and closing his eyes, slowly savoring the taste in his mouth making small satisfactory noises as he did.

Harry decided it best to ignore the way his groin heated ever so slightly at those noises. No, it was just the coffee. And it was getting hot in the restaurant, another table had just walked in. Yes. That explained it perfectly well as Malfoy pressed his spoon to his lips, his small pink tongue flicking out and licking any remnants off of it. “Tell me, Harry, do you date often?” he asked, spooning out more of the crème brulee.

Thoroughly interested in the small bubble that had appeared in his coffee, Harry shrugged, forcing himself _not_ to look up at Malfoy. “I did. After Gin and I split. Every witch or wizard that dated me couldn’t get over, well, y’know, who I was. Some dates were pretty disastrous. Some people purposefully wanted Prophet photographers to catch us snogging in an alley and it got pretty out of hand sometimes…I found it easier to date muggles after that. But for some reason, I always got the rotten dates. Too boring, too excitable, too prying. I gave up. Mat was Ron and ‘Mione’s idea – I usually get forced into a date against my will every few months,” he confessed.

“Pansy was like that at first. I do love to date, however, I refuse to ever enter a relationship again that I don’t fully desire. She’s a dire romantic, you see, very disapproving of my…ambiguous lifestyle,” Malfoy said carefully.

“Pansy Parkinson? Er, you’re still friends with her?” Harry asked, clinging to any subject that wasn’t about his or Malfoy’s dating life.  

“Unfortunately. She lived in my flat till she got herself married to Theodore Nott, that poor bastard. Zabini has since taken over her room at my home, he had married Daphne, Astoria’s older sister, and it seems neither Greengrass is fit for marriage,” Malfoy drawled bemusedly.

“Oh, well, must be a big house to have just anybody living in it then,” Harry commented. He really had nothing to say about his other old classmates, he had never gotten the chance to get to know either of them even in the slightest – they were always overshadowed by Draco. _Malfoy_ , he reminded himself chidingly. Regarding Blaise, he already knew and spent too much time with him as it was, being newly partnered with Neville and Dean.  

“It is a fair size. Just a few blocks away, actually. Why, would you like to see it, Harry?”

No matter how hard Harry attempted to stray from the subject, Malfoy somehow always brought them back to it, his eyebrows waggling insinuatingly, his elbows propped on the table again to allow him to lean forward as much as he could without actually getting on top of the table itself. Harry felt a sudden foot on his own and he was certain it was there on purpose. No, it couldn’t be. That wasn’t a foot, just his own trousers. And that? That feeling running up his lower leg, most definitely that was the tablecloth. He wanted to tell Malfoy to bugger off but his words were failing him, instead he took another drink of his coffee, thankful for the steam that masked the colour of his cheeks.

Malfoy handed his spoon forward to Harry, crème brulee ready for him on it. “I will not let you leave till you try it,” he firmly said, each layer of the dessert represented on the spoon.

Something took over Harry, yes something must have, because he was opening his mouth and letting Malfoy spoon feed him the dessert. Harry hummed in blissful surprise; it was delicious. A little piece of custard fell from his lips and Harry used his finger to push it back in, sucking on it for a moment. “Mm, that is really good,” he conceded, looking back at Malfoy. But Malfoy was quiet, his mouth parted, the spoon still lingering between them, his eyes intense and cheeks flushed. Harry blinked a few times. He knew that look, he’s seen it before although not often…no, that couldn’t be it. Certainly not.

Clearing his throat, Malfoy finally lowered the spoon. “Marc forgot another for the mousse. I despise mixing the two, however, eating one after the other is simply heaven.” Much to Harry’s surprise, Malfoy dipped his finger in the small bowl of mousse. He brought it up to his mouth and sucked it clean, his tongue coming out and licking his digit till all of the chocolate was gone. Harry’s breathing was becoming labored and that damned table cloth kept moving distractingly against his leg.

Malfoy extended his finger, now dipped in a new round of mousse, across the table much like he did the spoon, his eyes were half-lidded and lazy. And Harry didn’t think. He couldn’t speak. He didn’t know how it came to be that he even moved, lowering his mouth onto that finger. His eyes blinking rapidly between what was before his face and that of his old schoolmate. Harry’s lips were moving, taking the whole finger into his mouth, pressing it to one side of his cheek. He had no idea how his tongue began to move but surely it did on its own, lapping the mousse away from the digit. Malfoy’s free hand was gripping the edge of the table, he was leaning so far forward Harry was curious if he was about to pounce like a tiger on its prey.

Removing his finger with slow trepidation, Malfoy made a masked sound in the back of his throat. Harry observed that he didn’t look nearly as composed as he did just a few minutes before. “Brilliant, is it not?” Malfoy breathed at last, both his hands dropping to his lap where Harry could no longer see them.

Harry, having just realized what he had done – and certainly not of his own volition – turned every shade of red a human could. The tablecloth was still doing its damned work on his leg but now it was moving higher. ‘How can a tablecloth be so bloody active?’ Harry yelled at himself, even though he really knew what was happening where no one else could see. Harry looked down at his own lap and nearly had a heart attack in the middle of the restaurant; he could lie to himself all he wanted to but the physical evidence of his reaction to Malfoy was staring him in the face.

Heat exploded up his neck, cheeks and ears now. He fumbled with his trousers, much to Malfoy’s newly composed amusement, and stood up. He cleverly hid his arousal and took out his wallet from his back pocket with shaking hands. Malfoy quickly stood as well, placing his hand on Harry’s as he was trying to reach for his notes. “No need, Harry. Tonight was my treat,” he smiled warmly.

Harry could have died happy right there. He was struck but just how beautiful Draco Malfoy could look when he smiled. His own thoughts horrified him and he had no idea how he ended up on the street so suddenly. He must have looked like a fool, fleeing from the table so hurriedly, and at his age.

Harry wasted no time finding a small abandoned alley and apparating home. His heart was still hammering in his chest even as he jumped in the shower, praying the cool water could wash away the memory of that night. But every time he closed his eyes he saw Malfoy smirking at him, leaning across the table, felt his finger in his mouth, or saw his tongue lapping against his own digit. Harry’s hands reached down and grasped his throbbing cock, he gasped immediately as he held tightly onto it, slowly beginning to pump.

Malfoy’s hair, the way he toyed with the stem of his wine glass, the way everything he did with his mouth looked so damn elegant and sexy all at once. Harry was breathing heavily, throwing his head back under the stream of water, moaning to himself. Once Harry thought of that lustful look that lingered in Malfoy’s eyes is when he exploded; unable to hold himself back as he released himself all over the shower. He slumped against the wall, sighing raggedly.

“Fucking hell,” he swore, “Anybody but Malfoy.”

* * *

 

Harry woke to the sound of knocking on his bedroom door, which in itself was odd. He knew his front door was locked so who could be at his bedroom door? He groaned as he invited them in, it must be somebody with access to his Floo Network. Hermione crossed her arms. “Harry, you didn’t go to work today,” she stated, obviously not amused as she hovered over him.

“Called in,” he mumbled, burying his head in his pillow. ‘If she sees me, she’ll know. If she even looks at me, she’ll know I’ve seen Malfoy. That I did what I did, thinking about Malfoy. That I’m _attracted_ to Malfoy.’

“Why? Are you sick?” she asked concernedly, sitting down beside him and reaching out with the back of her hand to check his temperature.

“No. Just called in. Needed a day is all,” Harry said, shaking off her hand and bringing himself to sit.

Hermione frowned, she knew something had to be wrong to make him call into work. “I’ve got the afternoon off. Let’s go to Riley’s for lunch,” she ordered, and Harry knew it was useless fighting with her.

He dragged himself out of bed and began to get ready, Hermione excused herself as he changed and brushed his teeth. When she met her in the drawing room, she was tidying up his books and papers, organizing them into neat little piles. She couldn’t help herself, Harry knew that, and he wasn’t about to stop her, either, he appreciated the gesture. “Where are the kids?” Harry asked, though he already knew where they were.

“With Arthur. I swear they like them more than myself,” she mumbled, frowning.

Harry smirked, “Nah, all kids are like that ‘Mione, it’s just something about Grandparents,” he assured her, stepping into his oversized fireplace and reaching for the Floo powder. He appeared on the other side of the Leaky Cauldron, Hermione not far behind.

It was snowing that day, he had his spare winter coat because like an imbecile he realized he had run out of Antonio’s so quickly last night he had forgotten his own. “Where’s your coat, Harry?” Hermione questioned him as they started on their walk to Riley’s.

Harry frowned, “Forgot it last night.”

“Oh, like at Mat’s?” Hermione asked suggestively, smiling. He quickly shook his head, the obvious look on disgust that came across his face explained it all. “Oh dear, Harry. What was wrong with Mat? He’s fantastic! Very nice, smart, cute! I thought for sure it would work this time!” she said desperately, linking her arm in Harry’s as they walked.

“He is a good guy, probably. He was just so, well, _boring_ ,” Harry said honestly, omitting the part where Mat slept with Draco thinking that it was all for the best.

“Was it that bad then?”

Harry shrugged. “Not as bad as the rest of them have been. And, er, I actually met somebody after it,” he admitted, forcing the blush to stay off his cheeks.

Hermione raised her eyebrows. “Oh?”

“Yeah, well, it turns out somebody who Mat had slept with last week was at the same restaurant and so he scattered pretty quickly, especially since that somebody never called him back.”

“Oh no, that’s horrible. Poor Mat,” Hermione frowned sympathetically.

Harry waved his hand. “Yeah but this other guy seems really…” he trailed off. ‘He seems really Malfoy is what he seems,’ he reminded himself.

Apparently there was something on Harry’s face because Hermione was looking at him intently now, biting her lower lip trying to hide her smile, “You and Mat’s ex hit it off, didn’t you?”

Harry lost his footing in the snow.

As he brought himself up with Hermione’s help, despite her fit of laughter, he brushed himself off and shoved his hands in his jeans, her arm linking around his again. “He was hardly an ex, ‘Mione. I’m certain I’ll never see him again, either. At least not if I can help it,” Harry muttered the last part to himself.

They were at the doorstep of Riley’s now and Harry held the door open to Hermione, ushering her inside. His eyes flickered across the street to Antonio’s, and widened at what he saw. Hair nearly blending with the snow, Malfoy stood there, dressed proper as he always was. He was shaking a short, fat man’s hand, smiling brightly and laughing. ‘Gods, he looks so nice when he smiles,’ Harry thought, mentally kicking himself afterwards.

Malfoy’s sixth sense must be that he was alerted to Harry’s presence because his attention turned to him as he let go of the man’s hand, his smile faltering only momentarily before he directed one straight at Harry, more brilliant than ever. Harry nearly swallowed his tongue as he turned away and hurried inside after Hermione.

They settled down at their usual table, placing their drink orders with the waitress. “Tell me, what’s his name, then?” Hermione inquired.

Harry all but groaned. He knew she wouldn’t relent, what was he to do? “Craig,” he said at last.

“Craig. I like that name,” Hermione said absently.

“I don’t,” Harry mumbled. Out of all the muggle names Malfoy had to pick Craig. It certainly didn’t suit him one bit.

“What happened, after Mat left?”

Harry sighed. “Hermione, I’m happy and all that you care and for whatever reason are all too invested in my relationships, but I’d rather not talk about this one. It’ll never happen anyway, we share some…conflicts of interest,” he supplied. At least it was half-truth.

Hermione frowned. “Alright fine, I’ll leave you alone. For now,” she added pointedly before excusing herself to the loo.

Harry dropped his head onto the table, groaning. He just wanted to crawl back into bed. ‘Maybe I can obliviate myself,’ he considered.

The table moved slightly, Harry heard the weight of somebody sitting down in the opposite chair. “That was fast, ‘Mione,” he observed as he looked up at her. But she wasn’t a she. No. She was a he. And he was looking at Harry with that same intense gaze, smirking. He looked just as good as he did the night before and Harry cursed him for it.

“Last night was a lovely evening, Harry. I am a little perplexed as to why you ran off so quickly at the end of it. Especially without this,” Malfoy gestured to Harry’s jacket he was holding, folded up in his lap. Harry grumbled but didn’t respond. “I was going to ask you this last night but you were far too quick for me. Must be those auror-like athletics,” he teased and Harry felt his cheeks growing warm again.

“What do you want, Malfoy?”

Leaning across the table, _again_ , Harry felt something on his leg. But there was no tablecloths at Riley’s and Harry had nothing to blame it on. He couldn’t ignore the way the toe of Malfoy’s shoe pressed up into him, tracing his lower trousers. Heat was pooling in Harry’s groin again, much to his displeasure, and the memory of what he did in the shower last night to the thought of Malfoy came flooding back to him. “I wanted to see if you would grace my presence for coffee this evening. Seeing as you enjoy caffeine so late at night and there is this lovely band that plays on Wednesday evenings at this charming shop on High Street.”

“Why?” Harry asked, his voice was a lot quieter than he intended it to be and it was trembling. ‘Why am I so nervous? This is bloody Malfoy here, nobody special, just Malfoy!’

Malfoy picked up Harry’s glass of water, taking a sip out of it. ‘He obviously has boundary problems with other’s food and drinks,’ the brunette observed. “Why not?” he eventually returned.

Harry couldn’t argue with that flawless logic. He couldn’t believe he was actually nodding his head in agreement. “Lovely. I’ll send an owl over later this afternoon with the details,” Malfoy slowly stood from the table.

Hermione was back from the bathroom, approaching the table and looking nervously between Harry and Malfoy, no doubt wondering if she needed to subdue a disastrous situation, as she tried to make out what was happening.

Unknowing of Hermione’s presence, Harry watched Malfoy closely as he loomed over him and dropped his jacket into his lap, smiling that brilliant smile again that unexplainably took Harry’s breath away. “And do please remember to call me by name. Malfoy makes me feel so old and is reserved for business partners only, not you. For you, Draco will do. Or Craig if you prefer,” Malfoy winked, laughing lowly at Harry’s narrowing eyes. He turned to the third person in their party now, nodding at her. “Granger,” he greeted before leaving the restaurant.

All of the blood drained from Harry’s face as he turned to face his astonished friend, plopping back down in her seat. “Harry,” she said slowly, “You were with _Malfoy_ last night?”

Harry groaned, his head smashing back down onto the table. He wanted to run away and hide again, just like he had done the evening before. “If it’s any, er, consolation it looks like you had a good time. He looks like _he_ had a good time,” she assured him, but that didn’t quite help his situation. Hermione reached across the table, squeezing his hand as he looked up at her desperately. “Why don’t you tell me what happened, Harry?”

The rest of their lunch Harry talked and he couldn’t stop himself. He described what happened with Mat, that he and Malfoy got to talking and he was polite enough to leave out the fine details. Of course she wasn’t privy to what he did to finish off his night, but she seemed rather interested in the whole story itself. When he was finished, their plates were cleaned and they were sipping on their teas.

“Now I’ve agreed to go have coffee with him and I don’t even know why, ‘Mione. I haven’t seen him for years and I’m grateful I haven’t, y’know? What is wrong with me?” Harry bemoaned.

Hermione sighed, shaking her head. “Nothing’s wrong with you Harry. You just like somebody, for once. And that’s okay, isn’t it? It sounds like you had a good time. Malfoy and you, it doesn’t make a lot of sense but it doesn’t _not_ make sense, either. You’re both so passionate about everything, and stubborn,” she smirked as Harry stuck his tongue out at her.

“But he’s Malfoy,” Harry reiterated for the fourth time. “He was such a prat in school!”

“People change, Harry. You changed and so did he. He’s a very respectable business man now, much more than his father ever was. You should know, it’s your department that tracks known ex-Death Eaters and their activities. If you’re so concerned you could always get somebody at work to check his files, I’m sure Ron would be more than glad to do it for you,” Hermione suggested. She hadn’t seem Harry even remotely happy, or distressed, over a date in a long time, even if it was Malfoy she couldn’t let him lose this opportunity.

“Merlin, Ron!” Harry groaned again. “He’s gonna murder me, ‘Mione!”

Hermione shook her head. “Nonsense. Ronald doesn’t care who you see as long as you’re being safe.”

“Well somebody _has_ to murder me or at least lock me up at St. Mungo’s in the ward for the Criminally Insane. I’ve obviously lost it. I can’t be seriously considering dating Malfoy!” he exasperated.

“I thought his name was Draco, Harry. Or Craig,” she added laughing. Harry’s head fell to the table again at her words.

“I’m screwed.”

And screwed he was.

As he dressed for the evening, his hands shook. Hermione and Ron were sitting on his bed, watching him frantically throw shirts out of his wardrobe. “I’ve nothing nice,” he concluded, huffing, staring at the accumulated mass of clothing.

Ron was gnawing on the end of a licorice whip, shaking his head at his best friend. The news startled him a bit, but otherwise he seemed unaffected by Harry’s nervous interest in their old school mate. “Stop being such a bloody ponce, Harry, it’s only Malfoy – he saw you in Dudley’s clothes for years and anything is better than that.”

Harry whirled at his friend. “Only Malfoy? _Only Malfoy_? The fact that it’s Malfoy is what makes it worse! It doesn’t help he looks-tch, never mind,” he mumbled, blushing as he turned back to his hopeless mess of clothes.

Hermione was hovering over the pile as well, sifting through the clothes, as she laughed lightly. “He does look pretty gorgeous, doesn’t he? Really grew into that pointy face of his. Looks pretty well kept.”

“He’s Malfoy, of course he’s well kept,” Ron grumbled, not exactly pleased with how his wife was referring to the old Slytherin.

“He’s more than that. He’s fit. Perfectly fit,” Hermione corrected her husband, thinking off to herself for a moment.

“Oh, I’m sorry ‘Mione, would _you_ like to go on this coffee date with him instead?” Harry teased.

“This,” Hermione said decisively, holding up a black long sleeve button up shirt. Simple – just like Harry. “With your ‘I-nearly-had-a-midlife-crisis’ jeans that you bought when you first started going to that horror of a muggle club.”

Harry stuck his tongue out at his friend, snatching the shirt from her and taking his own off, slipping that on in its place. A tapping at the window startled them all. An owl was rapping on the glass and Harry immediately recognized it; it was the same eagle owl Malfoy used in school. Harry let it in, surprised to see Pinna enter after him, eyeing the intruding owl suspiciously. “It’s alright girl, she’s just here for a moment,” Harry assured his companion who perched herself on her seldom used cage placed next to his wardrobe, eyes never leaving the other owl.

“Nineteen High Street, eight o’clock. I hope smoke doesn’t bother you, Harry,” he read aloud, eyebrows stitching together at the last part. “Smoke? Why’s that matter?”

Hermione and Ron both shrugged. “Are you finished having your little fit over this date? Mum’s gonna kill me for leaving the kids over there so late,” he said, standing from the bed and stretching.

Harry scoffed at his best friend before sighing. “I guess I’m fine as I’ll ever be with this. And stop calling it a date. It’s not like that,” he huffed.

“Right. It’s not like that at all,” Hermione giggled, dodging a handful of clothes Harry tossed at her.  

Once his friends wished him luck and took their leave, Pinna hooted at Harry. He ruffled her feathers affectionately, sighing. “I’ll leave the window open for you, girl. You know where the treats are.” Pinna hooted again, leaning into his hand. “And no, I’m not giving you any pastries, Pinna, they’re no good for you.”

Pinna playfully nipped at his hand before hooting and letting herself out again. He laughed after her, shaking his head. Pinna wasn’t Hedwig, but Harry loved her almost just the same, she could never replace her but she certainly tried.

Harry was in disbelief of himself for leaving his house twice in one week. That was certainly a rarity, other than going over to Hermione and Ron’s place which he did do often when James was gone, to visit his niece and nephew. He usually only went to visit Teddy with James, otherwise he would get an earful from both kids. But, as the snow fell even heavier, Harry gathered his Gryffindor courage and hauled himself through the Floo and out into the cold.

Instead of walking he took the tube to the nearest intersection. It was far too cold to walk all that way that night. The closer he got to the coffee shop, the more his nerves crept up on him. “This isn’t even a date,” he muttered, reminding himself. “Draco just wants to talk to you is all. Nothing wrong with that. Just a couple of old…enemies talking to each other,” Harry sighed, shivering against the wind and pulling his jacket closer to him. With his wand in his pocket he cast a small warming charm, hoping it wasn’t noticeable to the any passerby.

The coffee shop was located in a very modern district, it and a few bars on the street seemed to be the only things opened at that time of night. Harry checked his watch, which he rarely wore besides in places he couldn’t cast tempus, sighing. He was twenty minutes early. The coffee shop looked bright, full of young muggles; a lot of them heavily pierced and tattooed. Harry simply couldn’t imagine this a place Malfoy would want to go. It was loud inside, a band stood cramped on a lit up small raised platform by the large open window.

“You’re early,” a voice spoke from behind him.

Harry stiffened, a shiver going down his spine. From the cold, of course. Even with the warming charm it must have been from the cold. “So are you,” he returned as Draco came to stand in front of him.

He looked impeccable, as per usual. “Don’t you ever look like rubbish?” Harry nearly slapped himself for letting the comment come out from underneath his breath.

Draco leaned in close enough to ghost his breath across Harry’s cheek and Harry was certain he could hear the loud beat of his pulse, too. “No. Neither do you, Harry,” he whispered, leaning back again and smirking at his blush. “Nice warming charm,” he commented, extending his arm to Harry.

With his hand in his pocket, Harry gripped his wand again and lifted the charm, the cold immediately hitting him. For some unexplainable reason he was taking Draco’s arm, much like Hermione would do to him. Was he really going to just stand there and let Draco court him, as if he was a girl? Harry never acted like this on dates.

Not that this was a date.

“It’s a little loud but the music is fantastic. I have since found that muggles make the best of music, much better than anything I’ve heard on our radio. The art is always pretty nice, too. They’re all local and display their things around the shop,” Draco explained, leading Harry up to the door, his voice increasing with the noise.

“Why’re we here, Draco?”

Draco turned to him, a smile fleetingly crossing his lips. “You called me Draco,” he stated sounded rather pleased.

“It was either that or Craig, right?” Harry mumbled, wishing he could curse the red off his face.

Laughing, Draco opened the door and the music and voices flooded them immediately. “I thought you would like it and it’s one of my favourite places in London.”

“Do you own this one, too?”

“I wish. The owner is a stubborn old goat. Ah, there she is now,” Draco gestured at a lady not much older than themselves. She wore an oversized sweater that was obviously band merchandise of somebody Harry didn’t recognize, she had on tight and torn jeans. Her hair was dreadlocked, her nose pierced right in the middle, and a trail of tattoos could be seen poking out her sleeves and her neck. She was working behind the counter with a few others, making coffee orders and serving up the odd pastry. “They haven’t much here to eat but the coffee is divine, promise,” Draco yelled, leaning to the side just enough to have his mouth close to Harry’s ear.

“Oi, no uptight pricks allowed in here tonight!” the girl he called a stubborn old goat screeched at Draco, looking serious for only a moment before breaking out into a grin. She stepped out from the counter and hugged him as he approached. Draco smirked, hugging her back.

“Couldn’t miss this,” Draco gestured his thumb towards the band. They were playing something upbeat and Harry couldn’t quite understand the singer, it was too muffled sounding over the other voices and the drums, but it did sound at least halfway good.

“Oh, and who’s this?” the women stepped back, regarding Harry as she looked him from head to toe.

“Er, name’s Harry, pleased to meet you,” he said nervously, extending his hand. The women raised her eyebrow at it before shaking it lazily.

“My name’s Marina but they all call me Mar-“

“Besides me. I call her Mor-“

“Hey now, Draco, he doesn’t be needing to hear that quite yet, the poor lad’s only just met me!” Mar elbowed him playfully. “Besides, don’t want to terrify ‘em, must be special if you’re bringing him in here!” she leaned towards Harry, winking, “Drake never brings his boyfriends here.”

Harry’s eyes widened, Draco’s arm snaked around his waist and pulled him flush up against his side, his heart stopping in the process. “He is,” he hissed, his voice low, “And what have I said about calling me that?”

“Tit for tat my love, tit for tat,” Mar teased, laughing. “What will you have? Is this an espresso kind of night or a latte kind of night?”

Draco thought for a moment. “Indefinitely a latte. Had this meeting earlier that if I didn’t drink ten espressos during it I would have simply passed from dullness.”

“For you, love?” Mar quipped at Harry.

“Er. Same as him, I guess,” he shrugged, not particularly caring what he had. He just needed something to occupy himself with so he could stop concentrating so damn hard on how Draco’s arm was _still_ around him and his hip was pressed up against his. ‘Who does he think he is? He can’t just do that so openly,’ Harry chastised.

“Do you want something to eat?” Draco asked as he led them away from the music, away from the counter as Mar went to fetch their things, and to a table in the corner on the opposite side of the café.

Harry mutely shook his head, taking in those around him. No wonder Draco asked him about smoke; the place was full of it. Considering the patrons were mainly teenagers, Harry could see why. He and Draco must have looked so out of place. He still couldn’t comprehend that this was one of his favourite places in the city, it just didn’t seem like the Malfoy he knew. Then again, last night wasn’t the Malfoy he knew, either. At least not entirely.

Shrugging off his jacket onto his seat, Harry let his eyes wander to the band, pretending to be more interested in them than his companion. “You clean up rather nicely, Harry,” Draco complimented, snapping Harry’s attention back to him. His eyes were raking over Harry slowly, examining every contour he could see.

Feeling suddenly naked, Harry was thankful when Mar brought their drinks along. Draco dipped his biscotti into the hot liquid, almost dissolving it before nibbling off the ends. Harry merely moved an empty spoon around the liquid, swirling the milk and cinnamon on top around. He had nothing to say to Draco. It was becoming increasingly apparent how odd the entire idea of this evening was; why had he agreed to come here again?

“Art, Harry, I’m asking if you like art. You know: colours, sculptures, nude models, the whole bit,” Draco smirked, his hand reaching out and resting on top of Harry’s idle one, startling him.

Looking across the table from the hand on his to Draco’s smoldering face, Harry sighed. ‘Right. _That’s_ why I’m here.’

“I guess so. Not really, actually, to be honest. I haven’t ever had an eye for it. If ‘Mione didn’t pick my clothes out for dates I’m sure I’d never get laid,” Harry blurted out, louder than he wished, over the dying music reaching the end of its song.

Draco grinned, his hand beginning to make small rhythmic circles on top of Harry’s. “Did Granger pick out your clothes for tonight?”

Harry flamed red, tearing his eyes away from Draco. He couldn’t answer truthfully to that, but at Draco’s low laughter he already had. “Her name’s Weasley now,” he muttered, desperately hoping to distract Draco from any subject regarding him and his absolute, necessary denial that this was in any form a date.

“Will always be Granger to me,” Draco shrugged, pulling his hand back across the table to drink his latte. “I have seen you, you know, over the years in the Prophet,” he says conversationally after a while.

“So all you’ve seen is rubbish, then,” Harry grumbles, trying the latte for the first time and although the heat stung his tongue it did have a nice taste to it.

Draco leaned back in his chair, looking ultimately too relaxed for Harry’s comfort, a lazy smile on his lips. “Being Head Auror there’s always events, cases, ministry balls and charities, the wonderfully dull things I have seen reported on you. Then there’s the more interesting ones,” his voice drops dramatically with his last sentence, almost to a purr too quiet for Harry to hear. Something about the tone of it has Harry palpitating.

“Mm?” he asked, trying to sound like he wasn’t that interested, his eyes were back on the band located behind Draco.

“I kept one, actually. It was too good not to. I brought it tonight, thought you might enjoy a little nostalgia,” Draco’s voice is dripping with something Harry can’t quite place and there’s that lazy look in his eyes again as he reaches into his too-tight-but-perfectly-fitted-slacks pocket and pulls out a folded piece of the Daily Prophet.

Harry’s heart is racing again. It’s the music, speeding up again as another song picks up. His palm is sweaty as he grasps at the folded piece, he snatches it and opens. His eyes immediately go wide, he pales and drops the article clipping to the table. Looking up at him was a picture six years old; the parchment was obviously dated itself, too. Harry, wearing noticeably tighter clothing in a much younger appearing and fitter physique, was pressing another man, tall and blond, up against the brick wall at the side of the Hog’s Head in Hogsmeade. His mouth was ravenously exploring the others, then trailed feverish kisses down his neck and back up again, their hips grinding together. Harry’s one hand was digging into the others hip, his other was lost in the shaggy blond hair, pulling at it. Above the picture read in big, bold, unavoidable letters; HARRY POTTER – GAY?

“You know what I did the second I saw that picture, Harry?” Draco purred. “I went and had myself a wonderful wank-“

“I have to go to the bathroom!” Harry screamed across at him, promptly cutting him off. His chair skid out from behind him, scraping the floor, as he turned and hurried in the directions of the nearest escape route; unceremoniously slamming the door behind himself and leaning against it, his breathing ragged. He hadn’t seen that picture in a long time; he had hoped he wouldn’t see it again.

‘But why has Draco kept it all this time?’ Harry asked, groaning almost immediately as realization hit him in a sickening wave just as it had done last night. ‘Draco likes me. He’s _attracted_ to me. He has been since that picture. Why hasn’t he made any advances before now then? And this…tonight…this is really a date, isn’t it? Fuck. Me.’ Harry swore to himself, unaware he was knocking his head back against the door.

‘Okay. It’s a date,’ he told himself resolutely. ‘Malfoy or not let’s just do what I do on all dates and I’ll get through it eventually. Dates always come to an end. Dates, I can do. I’m talented at failing on dates,’ Harry reminded himself, trying to build the confidence that he most certainly could go through with this evening, even with the pressing knowledge that Draco Malfoy wanted him for whatever reason.

When he finally returned to the table some minutes later, Draco was chatting with another lad that had taken Harry’s place. Harry nearly sighed with relief, hoping he was actually able to get out of this one easier than he thought he would be able to. Instead, Draco’s smile at the other man turned into a sickening, summoning, breath-taking smirk directed at him once he caught his sight.

“Nigel, this is Harry,” Draco introduced them once Harry rejoined, standing awkwardly behind the stranger in his seat.

Nigel turned to him, grinning like a madman. He looked far too cheerful to be associated with somebody like Draco. He was a little bit porkier than the average bloke, he had dirty blond hair so long it was pulled back into a messy ponytail, a few piercings scattered around, and a fag hanging carelessly from the corner of his mouth. “Harry, ‘eh? So he’s the one you can’t stop whining about?”

Harry’s breath hitched, he looked to Draco in hope to see some form of embarrassment or hear some sort of retaliation but he appeared unfazed. “Whining?” Harry asked, finally finding his voice box.

“Met this handful ‘bout eight years ago myself. Stumbled in here, swearing his head off about some _Harry Potter_ guy who just didn’t deserve to be Head of some blasted thing I’ve never heard of before in my life! Was pretty sure he was raving so I had him on; just for entertainment purposes! Potter at school this, Potter at school that, Potter and his wife this, Potter and his wife that…knew him a year before I even knew _he_ had a little devil of his own!” Nigel explained.

Harry grew more petrified with each word he spoke – especially since Draco still seemed so uncaring, so comfortable, with all of this being shared. “Came in ‘bout what was it, five, six years ago, with this rubbish,” Nigel continued gesturing at the picture which to him was still frame, obviously amused with Harry’s dumbstruck expression. “And I knew once I saw ye kissing another boy _that’s_ what little Draco over here was so obsessed about, he just-“

“Calm down, Nigel, we’re frightening the poor boy,” Mar appeared behind him, grasping his shoulder.

“But babe, what will I do with myself all night, then?”

Mar walked around the chair and sat in Nigel’s lap, leaning against him. Nigel immediately forgot about any good natured teasing he had in mind, his mouth becoming quickly lost beneath Mar’s dreadlocks as the owner of the coffee house grinned madly at Harry. “Why don’t you have a seat, Harry? We won’t hurt you.”

“Speak for yourselves,” Draco drawled and reached out to grab Harry by the wrist. “Yes, why don’t you have a seat, Harry?”

With a quick yank, and a yelp on Harry’s behalf, Draco had pulled him onto his lap. Harry, being off balance, steadied himself with one hand on Draco’s knee and the other on the table. He must have looked quite the skeptical. Draco leaned forward in the chair, his front pressing up against Harry’s back, one of his hand was snaked around the others waist and the other on the table, just beside Harry’s. “Relax, Harry,” he breathed into his ear, “Try to enjoy yourself for once.”

‘Enjoy myself? With you?’ Harry thought and wanted so desperately to say but he still didn’t trust his own voice.

He was thirty one and he damn well felt like he was a blushing sixteen year old all over again. He hadn’t felt this nervous, this confused, in a long time. It was kind of thrilling. And once that thrill caught onto Harry, snuck its way under his skin, once his mind forgot that this was Malfoy and was Draco instead, well…

…it was like falling down the rabbit hole.

 It didn’t take long for Mar and Draco to delve into a heated conversation over the band that was playing, something called Jandisimo, and Harry – once he got over the fact he was still, somehow, on Draco Malfoy’s lap – was taken aback at just how much Draco knew about muggle music. He seemed passionate about it, too. That was certainly something he could never have guessed before. Their conversation changed course too rapidly for Harry to keep up but he caught bits and pieces of it, making input whenever Draco or Mar urged him to.

Nigel’s mouth was still otherwise occupied during the entirety of it.

Mar excused the two of them later into the evening, around the same time the band was packing up their set. Harry was at a crossroads now. He had been sitting on Draco’s lap for what appeared to be well over an hour. Getting comfortable enough to lean into the chair a little bit, have his first coffee of the evening settled in his hands in his lap, his head inclined at an odd angle so he could still see Draco out of the corner of his eye and talk to him with ease. It was much easier to hear him like that, too, in such a crowded place. But now that Nigel had vacated his seat, Harry was at a loss. Should he move? Did he want to?

Both of the answers terrified him.

“Did you like them? Jandisimo?” Draco asked, the arm that had been lying around Harry’s waist tightening and pulling him closer. Harry’s breath hitched, he was certain he felt _something_ – No. Couldn’t be.

“Er yeah, actually. Kind of odd but in a good way,” he admitted, though he hadn’t much to compare it to.

“Like you,” Draco whispered, his lips pressed lightly at the hollow of Harry’s ear. Harry shivered against his own will and, due to the crowd and the others body heat, he couldn’t blame that one on the cold this time.

“Draco, about that. About this,” Harry corrected, twisting around in Draco’s lap, now _painfully_ Harry that he definitely felt what he indeed thought he did before. “How are you so…okay with it?”

Draco frowned, his grip on Harry loosening. “I said last night, Harry, Hogwarts and the war were both a long time ago. Things are different, circumstances are different…and to be honest,” he said, his voice dropping dangerously again and Harry nearly groaned. He hated how – how _sultry_ Draco could sound without even trying, “As soon as I saw that picture in the Prophet all those years ago, I knew that the next time I saw you I just _had_ to let you know what I thought about it.”

Harry’s heart was doing that annoying thing again where it pounded so loud it nearly made it sound like it was drowning in his ears. “And what do you think?” Harry queried shakily.

Draco’s arm tightened again, he sat up fully in his chair bringing their bodies impossibly close. ‘Is he _nuzzling_ me?’ Harry realized, astonished. “I think, now that you’re all grown up, you’re pretty sexy Harry. And a good kisser by the looks of it. And those jeans, _mm_ …” Draco trailed off, his face turning upward so that he was no longer nuzzling but instead his lips were pressed firmly against the side of Harry’s neck.

Gripping his own knee and the chair tightly, Harry’s eyes fluttered shut. It was such a soft, feathery kiss but it had him reeling. “Do you still have those jeans, Harry? Would you ever mind trying them on for me?”

Harry, Gryffindor courage in place from the lips still claiming his neck every few moments, found himself grinning. “If you’re lucky.”

Draco paused for a moment, Harry could feel his smirk against his skin and the small snort of amusement that followed. “Come on. The band’s done, there’s no reason to be keeping around this hole,” Draco said, prodding Harry off of him.

After a quick goodbye to Mar and Nigel, Harry was being led by the hand. Draco’s fingers were long, bony, and they felt strange but right entwined between Harry’s own digits. “Where are we going?”

Draco shot him a devious look over his shoulder. “To see if we can recreate that photo, Potter.”

Harry swallowed, suddenly nervous again. He didn’t mean to…did he? And since when was Draco so brave? Such a risk-taker? ‘Since when was Draco friends with muggles?’ Harry let all preconceived notions of the man still leading him in the snow slip away. And for once, Harry allowed himself to listen to somebody else. He took Draco’s advice and he relaxed. He forgot about work, forgot about Ginny, forgot about what those around him were thinking, if there was a Daily Prophet photographer somewhere lurking, stalking him. Instead, he concentrated on the warmth of Draco pressed into his palm, the way his hair was almost as white as the snow that landed on it, and the way he was being rather brusquely shoved down an alley and up against a wall just out of sight from the street.

Hissing as his back came into contact with it, Harry had no time to think or react as Draco looked down at him intensely for just a split second before claiming his mouth with his own.

Shocked at first it took Harry a moment to part his lips to Draco’s eager tongue, pushing its way into his mouth. He tasted like cinnamon and faintly of mint. Draco kissed with a purpose, not like a precursor to something else, but as if the kiss itself was the end all be all of the moment and it truly was. His whole body pressed into Harry’s, moving in sync with the twirling of his tongue against the others.

Draco’s hands slipped under Harry’s coat and the carefully picked out shirt, untucking it from his jeans. His fingertips were cold at first but quickly warmed to the skin underneath. Harry wasn’t sure he stood there, only responding when need be, as he let Draco explore him, his own arms hanging uselessly at his side. But then Draco began to kiss even deeper still, fiercer, and ground his pelvis into Harry’s. And _oh_ , there certainly was no ignoring that.

Lost to hopeless abandon, Harry’s hands gripped Draco by the shoulders and in a quick movement he had him flattened up against the opposite wall, their kiss momentarily interrupted. Draco was smirking, swollen lipped and flushed, down at Harry, his hands still under his shirt. “Is something the matter, Harry?” he breathed, his fingers had found both of Harry’s nipples and gave a quick pinch.

Harry moaned, pressing himself as hard up against Draco as he could. “Yeah,” he said huskily after a moment, “In the photograph, _I_ was on top.” Before Draco could reply, with a snarky comment no doubt, Harry was kissing him like he hadn’t kissed anybody since, well, the man in the photograph. But he didn’t let it stop there, no. If this is what Draco wanted, Harry was sure as hell going to give it to him. With his knee, he opened his legs and settled himself in between.

Harry may not have been as eloquent as Draco but he sure as hell knew what he was doing in this department. Draco moaned into Harry’s mouth, gripping at his skin underneath his shirt, as Harry unabashedly rubbed himself up against. Draco wanted to be snide, to be boastful, but his mouth was far too busy elsewhere. It didn’t stop his mind from thinking about how Harry Potter was, seemingly without shame, gyrating into him, moaning due to his fingers, his lips and his hard cock.

“Oi! WAIT UP MELINDA!” A voice yelled, echoing in the alley from the street.

Startling a bit, they both pulled back. As voyeuristic as they would both like to assume they were, they weren’t. Harry was trying to catch his breath as he took a step away from Draco, his eyes running over the others disheveled appearance and his cock twitching happily in response. “Before I find my marbles, c’mere,” Harry gestured, hand open and shaking slightly.

Once Draco’s hand landed in Harry’s, they Disapparated with a crack. They appeared in Harry’s gutted kitchen. Dirty pots and pans thrown haphazardly into the sink, the piles of papers only growing as the days go on. “ _Lumos_ ,” Harry said, tossing his wand once it was used to the table and his coat on top of it as well.

Draco straightened himself out, both from the heavy snogging and the surprise Apparation, and took a long look around his surroundings. Harry watched him closely, now suddenly nervous. ‘Why did I bring him here, exactly?’ “Tea?” Harry offered at last.

Mutely nodding, Draco slowly slid out of his jacket and explored his surroundings without leaving the room, well aware of Harry’s eyes trained on him. His fingers ran across some of the piles of papers, dust settling on top of them. Draco stopped, his transfixed just beyond Harry’s head at the open window overhead his sink. “Potter, there’s a strange owl in your window.”

Harry turned quickly to see Pigwidgeon, perched with his leg out-stretched. “Ah, Pig,” he muttered. “Sugar?” He ignored the note from Ron and Hermione, prying to see how his night with Draco had gone.

“Pig? Sugar?” Draco blinked.

Harry laughed. Draco was surely out of his element here. “Do you take sugar in your tea?”

“No, thank you. Harry, how in Merlin’s name do you live here?” Draco sneered at last.

Scoffing, Harry continued on preparing a pot of tea. “It’s just a little disorganized; a little mess never hurt anybody.”

“A little mess is an understatement I am afraid. You sorely need a House Elf, Potter,” Draco’s eyes ventured to the walls of the kitchen. It was an older home, much different from his own, closed in and each room severed off. Pictures of James lined the walls, a few of them as a family, too, and then others of Harry with assorted redheads. His eyes landed on one picture in particular, perched on a cabinet that seemed to hold all of Harry’s dishware. James Potter was holding Lily Evans close to him, their arms out-stretched, both their smiles wide and eyes alit with emotion. Draco picked up the picture, a small smile crawling up his lips.

“Tea’s ready. Oh,” Harry said softly, coming up behind Draco and taking the picture from him. He smiled at it himself, running his fingers across the moving couple before placing it back where it came from. “Mum and Dad, the first.”

“The first?” Draco inquired, still studying the couple.

“Yeah, Molly and Arthur might as well be my parents.”

Draco chuckled. “Did you just insinuate that you married your sist-“

“Shove off, Malfoy,” Harry snapped playfully, turning back to the table and taking his usual seat, back to the ajar window, fingering the handle of his teacup.

“They look like they were a lovely couple,” Draco commented, sitting beside Harry.

“They did, didn’t they?”

“My parents were never like that. In their own way, I guess, but never quite like that. Before the war, purebloods didn’t have the opportunity to fall in love – maybe that’s why I’m so obsessed with it now that I’ve my son and my business,” Draco openly admitted.

Harry blinked, ‘Obsessed with love? Draco? Sleeping with strangers doesn’t really seem the thing to do if you’re such a dire romantic.’ “Have you ever?”

“What? Fallen in love?” he laughed, shaking his head causing a few strands of platinum hair to fall from behind his ear. Instinctively, Harry reached across the table and pushed them back into their place, quickly retracting his hand and blushing as he did. Draco grabbed his hand, his fingers curling around it, holding it softly and laying them upon the table. “Not yet, but I will keep trying,” Draco was looking intensely at Harry, his voice low once again, and Harry could almost swear he wasn’t even breathing.

“Er,” Harry used his free hand to bring his teacup to his mouth, “S-so, was Scorpius with you for Christmas?”

Draco was laughing again, his grip on Harry’s hand tightening. “Look at you, Harry, anxious again. Is it because we’re alone?” The blond leaned closer, eyebrows rising and his voice dropping. “Is it because you’re thinking about finishing off what we started in that alley? Perhaps, upstairs? The couch? You know, even with all this mess I think we can manage it here…” he said suggestively, laughing again at Harry’s mollified expression.

“You’re rotten Malfoy, do you know that?” Harry returned.

Standing up, walking around the edge of the table, Draco shoved Harry by the shoulders. The chair scraped back a few inches, allowing just enough room for Draco to straddle Harry. He had one hand bracing himself on the chair behind his shoulder, the other gripping the collar of his shirt. “You don’t know the half of it,” he hissed, capturing Harry’s mouth once again.

Unlike last time, it didn’t take so long for Harry to react. He quickly closed his arms around Draco as their kiss deepened, almost with an urgency. Gods, he hadn’t felt so alive in such a long time and sod it if it was with Draco he was feeling it with. Harry’s hands were groping his behind, pushing the taller boy further down onto his lap, as he urged his own hips up. He was already so aroused, after only a moment of kissing Draco.

Draco’s hips began to roll on top of Harry’s, grinding down into his erection as his own grew harder, and he paused in their kiss to nip Harry’s lower lip with his teeth, smirking at the surprised yelp. Draco scampered back, faster than Harry himself could move, and suddenly he was on the edge of the table. His legs were open, dangly down with his feet barely reaching the floor, his hands were working at the buttons of his own shirt as he gazed at Harry with such intensity. All Harry could do was sit and watch as Draco revealed his bare chest, his perfectly taut and unnaturally pale abdomen to him. Harry licked his lips, gripping the edge of his chair as he restrained himself from closing their distance.

Tossing his shirt to the ground along with his best, Draco ran a hand through his hair. Harry was certain in that moment that nothing was more beautiful than him and how he hadn’t seen it all those years was beyond him. “I want you to have me, Harry,” he purred.

A tremor sent itself through him and Harry was in a daze as he stood up, removing his own shirt as Draco reached out and took off his glasses, folding them and setting them aside. “Fuck Draco, you’re-“

“I know. So are you, so you better hurry up and get on me, Potter, or as Salazar as my witness I will fuck you into your chair,” Draco growled huskily.

Harry’s ears burned and his cock throbbed at his words, let alone the sight of him. All abandon lost, Harry all but dove at Draco. He covered his body with his hands, he teased his skin, his small pink nipples, and groaned in response to the hitched breaths and moans that his actions elicited from Draco. Harry’s mouth worked its way from Draco’s lips to his neck, the hollow behind his ear, his tongue and teeth led the way down his torso and landed at an odd scar that startled Harry for a moment. With one hand on the lower of Draco’s back, the other came to lie on the jagged white scar.

Draco’s clouded eyes, half-lidded, looked down at him and covered his hand with his own. “It was a long time ago,” he said softly. “Besides, scars are sexy,” he opined.

Smirking at that, Harry used that hand to push Draco back further onto the table until there was enough room for him to crawl up there himself. He was staggeringly aware how hopeless he would have been at any of this if it weren’t for having to stay at least remotely fit for being an auror. They were half sitting up, all of their weight against Draco’s propped up elbows, as Harry lay between his legs now, pushing their cocks separated only by the thin fabric of their briefs and slacks together. Harry’s lips continued what they were doing before, kissing a trail down his smooth skin.

Harry paused at Draco’s navel, his tongue licking out and tasting the skin. ‘Merlin, how is he so bloody perfect?’ “ _Pulsus_ ,” he waved one of his hands at the stacks of Prophet and work papers, all of them immediately flying off the table and scattering to the floor.

Draco didn’t have time to look surprised as he was shoved fully down onto the table now, his head connected with the wood with a small thud that caused him to hiss. “Wandless magic, Harry?”

Between his kisses, still lowering still, Harry breathed, “I’m not Head Auror for nothing.”

Laughing, Draco’s hands wove into that thick, messy mop of hair, gripping it. “No, you’re not – _ahh, fuck Potter_!” he cried.

Rather boldly, Harry had tugged at his trousers and in a swift movement they were at his knees. Draco closed his eyes as Harry’s hand closed around his cock and began to pump, twist, slowly but with expertise. “Look at me,” Harry demanded, his voice barely audible.

Draco obliged, prying his lids open and looking down his naked body at the man crouched like an animal on the kitchen table. “Watch me,” he ordered again. A smirk Draco thought only he could muster crawled up on Harry’s lips and he found himself quivering at it, his hands tightening in his hair. As much as he wanted to throw his head back, he didn’t, he watched like he was told to. When Harry lowered his mouth, Draco’s eyes went considerably wide, especially since Harry’s emerald ones never left his and never wavered.

One hand was teasing, playing and rubbing his balls sensitively as the other pressed into the table, helping him maintain his balance. And his mouth – ‘Fucking Merlin’s fucking mother, Harry!’ – his mouth worked Draco’s cock like it hadn’t been worked in his life. Harry’s head bobbed, Draco’s hands now loosened but still lost in his hair, and his tongue did what movement it could, sliding up and down his shaft with the rest of the orifice. Saliva dripped from around Harry’s mouth but he didn’t seem to care, even as it ran down Draco’s shaft, passed Harry’s hand and his balls, no he didn’t seem to care at all. He seemed more concerned with keeping his eyes trained on Draco and pushing his cock back as far as he could, swallowing his own gag reflex.

When Draco’s head hit the back of Harry’s throat he couldn’t help himself, breaking eye contact with Harry and throwing his head back, moaning out loud as his hips bucked up into him. At the sounds, Harry’s own cock began wetting itself with pre-cum, aching to be touched, but he ignored it for now. He wasn’t about to give Draco any less than his best and Harry was going to make this one hell of a blowjob.

Minutes passed, Draco had lost track of time, but it felt like he was there for eternity, writhing underneath Harry, relishing his mouth and trying impossibly hard to restrain himself from just gripping his hair harder and fucking his throat raw. He did, however, have his limits. With a low, guttural growl Draco pulled Harry off of him by his hair.

Harry swore, wincing, and looking at Draco questioningly and what he saw there almost made him lose himself completely. Draco looked entirely flustered, his breathing heavy, his whole body was flushed and he was all but salivating. “Took too long, Potter,” he hissed.

Untangling his hands from his hair, he grabbed Harry by the wrists and shoved him off the table and jumped off it himself. “Draco, what are you-“

“Shh,” Draco whispered, turning Harry about and pushing him over onto the table. He leaned over him, his hands running up his back, his sides, and down again, all the while Harry shivering at their touch. Draco’s lips softly kissed his shoulder blade, up the nape of his neck, to his ear where he gently nibbled. Harry collapsed his weight onto the table, his hands turning into white fists on top of it. “Do you want me to fuck you, Harry?” he breathed.

Harry shuddered, he felt Draco’s hard cock press in between his buttocks at his hole, just probing it gently. “Y-yes,” he croaked, his eyes squeezing shut as he concentrated, “ _Accio lube_.” It took a mere few moments before a bottle was flying from down the stairs, into Harry’s now out-stretched hand who he twisted and turned back to Draco.

“Fucking useful that is, Harry,” Draco murmured, uncorking the bottle and slathering himself first and then Harry.

At the contact from Draco’s fingers, around the edge of his hole and then one suddenly sliding in with little resistance, Harry took in a sharp breath. One soon turned into two, Draco seemed to be leaning back off of him, admiring the view as his fingers worked at him. Three. Harry gasped, wincing slightly at the pressure that was building up. One hand slipped under himself, down the table and to where his cock was hanging, pushing hard up against the wood. He wrapped his hand around it only to have Draco’s free hand pry it away and replace it. “Allow me,” Draco said roughly.

Harry groaned and allowed himself to be fully taken over by Draco. He was leaning close over him again, his fingers were removing themselves and he felt the tip of his cock replace them. Once Harry was open to his full girth he bit hard down on his lip. His legs were trembling as Draco pushed slowly, further into him as deep as he could go. By the time the length of his shaft was inside, Harry wanted to scream but he held it in. Draco moved, very slow at first. Almost all the way out and when Harry was certain there was nothing inside anymore, Draco pushed forcibly all the way, and quickly, back inside. Harry did yell that time.

Draco did this several times, Harry felt agonized after the sixth round of it. “Just fuck me, Draco!” he eventually screamed. Smirking, Draco didn’t miss a second to follow orders. Harry was lost, in and out, in and out. Draco’s one hand was pumping his in exact rhythm with his own thrusts, and he was certain his legs were going to give out soon. “Do you – ah, yes – have any idea – fuck, Potter – how fucking hot you look?” No, he didn’t, but Harry certainly did know how hot he felt.

Heat pooled in his groin, reaching up to his stomach as well, and he thought his heart was going to fail any moment. Draco made a sudden movement of his hips, rolling them, when his cock was fully buried in Harry. Harry did scream, truly and loudly this time. “Oh? Like that, Harry? Right there?” Draco rasped, rolling his hips again in the exact same motion. Harry’s reaction was much the same.

‘Yes, exactly there,’ he wanted to say, encourage, but he couldn’t find his voice. Draco hit the spot again and again, his free hand was now digging into Harry’s upper back, as if he were restraining himself. And just as his hand sped up on his cock, just as Harry was certain he was about to lose himself entirely, Draco carefully extracted himself. Harry couldn’t help it, he whimpered at the sudden loss. Looking over his shoulder, panting, and trying to bring himself upright to question Draco, the blond was watching him hungrily, shaking his head.

“I can’t have all the fun, can I? It’s hardly fair,” Draco explained, helping Harry from the table and pushing him onto his chair.

Harry blinked a few times, he had no objections to voice as Draco lowered himself onto him. He took the lube, applying it to his own orifice, before grasping Harry’s cock and guiding it inside. Draco looked relieved, not pained, as Harry entered him and he easily took his girth and length. Harry’s hands were on Draco’s arse, grasping it as he moaned. “Fuck, Draco that feels so fucking great.”

“Mm, it does,” Draco concurred, his voice quivering. He was looking down at Harry, holding himself steady with his shoulders. “I want you to cum, Harry. I want to make you cum while fucking me.”

Hips bucking, hands grasping, Harry nearly did right there and then but he didn’t want it to end, not quite yet. His eyes raked Draco; the naked body of perfection riding him, and he craned his neck up to capture his lips. They kissed messily, tongues and teeth everywhere, as Draco moved quicker, gyrating and squeezing here and there as he did. It wasn’t long before, with a hand wrapped around his lover’s cock, that Harry was screaming his name and coming inside of Draco. Draco wasn’t too far behind as he felt the hot liquid spurting into him, Harry’s hand gripped his base tighter and his own cum shot up between them, hitting both of their chests equally.

When they were done, Harry cast a quick cleansing charm between the two of them, although he was still half hard inside Draco. He collapsed on the chair, breathing heavily and sweating despite the cold air creeping in through the window. Draco fell down on top of him, his head buried in his neck. “Fuck, Draco that was bloody fantastic.”

“Indeed it was.” He hummed. “As much as I love kitchen sex, which I most definitely do, have you got a bed, Harry?”

* * *

 

It was five in the morning the first time Harry woke and it was to the movement of the other in his bed. He rubbed his eyes, squinting to see Draco sitting on the edge of his bed. “Draco?” Harry called groggily. He had been wrapped around the blonde’s body, savoring his scent as he slept.

“I’ve a meeting in two hours. Can’t show up in yesterday’s clothing,” Draco explained quietly, stifling a yawn soon after.

Harry reached out for him. “Cancel it,” he suggested.

Draco shook his head. “It’s not one I can, Harry.” He stood up from the bed, stretching as he did, searching for the clothes which were carried up the evening before in a rush.

Propping himself up on his bed Harry sighed. The sudden insecurities hit him. Draco was a guy that admittedly fucked and ran; he had a habit of never calling back and for some reason that irked Harry more than anything. Sure, Harry had done it and had it done to him before but he didn’t want it this time. No. This time he _wanted_ to see Draco again. “You’re not going to call are you?”

“Of course not, Harry,” Draco said quickly, Harry’s heart dropping immediately. He turned around, one leg in his trousers and one out, grinning through the darkness of the dawn light spilling into the bedroom. “I’m going to _owl_ you.”

Harry smiled faintly, dropping his head back to his pillow.

The second time he awoke it was to his blasted alarm. He nearly chucked it out the window this time. Pinna was also hooting at him, wanting her meal before she retired for the morning. Draco was most certainly gone and it unnerved Harry more than he cared to admit. There was no trace of him, save the mess of papers strewn across his kitchen floor.

Unable to call into work twice, Harry reluctantly got himself ready for the day. It wasn’t much later he was interrupted by the sound of somebody landing through the Floo.

“Harry! Your kitchen is a disaster!” Hermione shrilly called from downstairs.

Through brushing his teeth he could hear her shuffling papers around, placing them into piles again. He quickly finished and joined his friend downstairs. “Morning, ‘Mione, to what do I owe the pleasure?” he asked, with a flick of his wrist he turned the kettle already prepped with water on. “Tea?”

“Yes please and I’ve brought some muffins. Made a batch when Hugo woke at an ungodly hour, thought I’d drop some off on my way to work,” she explained, kneeling on the floor as she tried to right the papers.

“D’you ever forget you’re a witch, Hermione?” Harry grinned, pointed his wand at the papers and with another flick of his wrist they began to pile themselves.

Blushing, she took his hand to pull herself off the floor, dusting off her knees as she did. She motioned to the small basket of muffins on the table which Harry thankfully took one, biting into it. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Harry,” she said, sitting herself down and Harry had to force himself not to think about the acts that were happening in that chair less than ten hours earlier.

“To you, too. Sugar, this morning?”

“No, thanks,” she shook her head.

Harry finished their teas and sat down, finishing off his first muffin as he did and taking another. Hermione took a tentative sip of the tea before leaning forward on her chair, her arms pressed against the table. Once again Harry had to shake all of the visuals away. “Tell me about it, Harry,” she urged.

“It was surprisingly great, actually. Draco’s a lot different than what I expected. He took me to this muggle café, strange place, where he’s even got the weirdest, music savvy, almost hippie friends. They were really nice people, mind you, just not the type I imagine Draco hanging around. We listened to a band, talked, and well…” Harry trailed off, trying to swallow the blush threatening to rise.

Hermione’s eyes went wide as she drank another sip of her tea, placing it gently on the table. “You didn’t! Harry! That’s a little fast, don’t you think?”

“Is it? I mean, I already know a lot about him and I know there’s still a lot I don’t but…it just felt right,” Harry admitted, both to himself and her. Because, Merlin yes, it had felt seven ways till Sunday kinds of right.

“Hm, I guess but still…be careful. I don’t want to see you hurt,” Hermione said cautiously but then her eyes lit up again. “Tell me, what’s he like?”

Harry smirked. “Bloody fantastic.”

Hermione blushed. “So you got to see Draco’s house then, what’s it like? I heard he doesn’t live in the Manor anymore.”

“Er, no, I haven’t seen it…”

“You brought him _here_? Harry, it’s a mess! I can’t imagine bringing somebody back here on a date, no offence!”

Harry shrugged, “Didn’t seem to bother him. He was more preoccupied with, well, me,” he mumbled.

Hermione, despite herself, was more interested than she knew she should be. It was rare for Harry to find somebody he actually wanted to sleep with, let alone invite over. “I bet there’s at least a dozen girls from back at Hogwarts just dying to know what Malfoy’s like in bed.”

“I wouldn’t know what he’s like in bed, ‘Mione,” Harry said dubiously, wishing he had bit his tongue.

“But you just said,” she started, befuddled.

“Yeah but we didn’t exactly _do it_ in the bed.”

Hermione’s eyes went wider still, she was leaning over the table with such rapt attention now. “Where?”

Harry wasn’t going to say. He really wasn’t going to tell her, truly. But his eyes wandered to the table top and gave himself away. Hermione looked down as well then back up at him, bewildered. “Here?” she asked weakly. Harry nodded, unable to find his voice as he bit his lower lip. “On the table? And that’s why the papers…oh Godric, Harry! That’s where you _eat!_ ”

“It was on the chair, too, if that makes it any better!”

Hermione’s shrill scream was heard as she shoved herself off the chair and backed away from the table. Harry dissolved into a fit of laughter, pieces of muffin spraying across the table as he dropped his head down, clutching his stomach.

Later on at work he was, for once, glad that he wasn’t out in the field that day and instead filing papers, signing reports and having a meeting with the recruiting officer later that afternoon. It was an easy day and one that he desperately needed. His office, made of three glass walls, sat at the head of the Magical Law Enforcement floor. He had a sweet, old secretary, Mrs. Augenio, seated right outside at her own little desk. With only a few pictures on his desk, of James, Teddy, Rose and Hugo, there were few distractions.  

Yet, he was distracted anyway.

His mind kept wandering back to the evening before, of Draco’s body pressed up against his, bending him over his kitchen table. Of the fact, ringing so loudly in his ear, that Draco never called Mat back even after a fantastic night with him. Harry was becoming increasingly worried that Draco honestly wouldn’t call him back.

A knock at his door startled him. It was Ron, letting himself in before he said so, and ducking a bright pink butterfly shaped paper as he did, a cloud of pink smoke following him. “Bloody Valentine’s Day,” Ron swore.

Harry blinked, he had totally gaped that today was Valentine’s Day. “Yeah, forget to get ‘Mione something again this year?”

“That happened once! Why can’t you people just like it go?” Ron snipped defensively, flopping down onto one of the chairs across from Harry’s desk.

“Shouldn’t you be, I don’t know, working?”

Ron sneered at his friend who playfully stuck his tongue back out at him. They may be in their late twenties but they were still best mates, and boys nonetheless. “Just came in from the field, shift is switching over, I’ve got about ten minutes,” he explained. Harry hummed, pretending to be occupied with reading a particular report but really when his mind was still back in his kitchen. “So, how was your date, then?”

Harry sighed, putting his quill down. “You haven’t seen your wife this morning?”

“No, why?”

Blushing, Harry looked to the side. “Er, I think you’ll be hearing about that when you do see her…it was…good, actually,” he admitted.

“Oh? So you actually enjoyed yourself with Malfoy? S’bit strange, but I can see you getting on with him. You’ve always been…matched, y’know?” Ron said thoughtfully.

Harry rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, er, thanks I think? I’m glad you don’t have a problem with it because, well, I actually had a _fantastic_ time if I’m to be honest. It was so strange, he’s really not the man I thought he was.”

Ron looked at his friend thoughtfully for a moment before his eyes went wide and he jumped up from his chair, pointing his finger at Harry accusingly. “You slept with him!”

“I did not!” Harry retorted quickly, standing up as well but averting Ron’s eyes all the same.

“You so did! Bloody hell mate, you slept with Malfoy!”

“Keep your voice down!” Harry hissed, taking his wand from his table and wordlessly casting a silencing charm.

Ron righted himself after a moment, sitting back down. “I can’t believe it, Harry. Malfoy.”

“You just said it makes sense!”

“I know and it does but…you already slept with him? I mean, good on you for getting yours but, Merlin’s pants!”

There was a muffled knock on the door and Harry looked precariously at Ron who nodded, calming himself. Harry lifted the charm and let the person in. It was someone he didn’t recognize but from the badge on their robes they were from the memos department of the ministry. “Mister Harry Potter, sir? Head Auror of the Magical Law Enforcement?”

“That’d be me,” Harry inclined his head, slowly sitting back down.

“I’ve got a few parcels for you, sir, and letters…”

Harry groaned, wanting to suddenly smack his head on the desk. “Valentine’s Day, mate,” Ron reminded him. Every year Harry was awarded with a small brigade of valentine’s from fans which he had no idea still existed but somehow they still did. “Just toss them,” Ron answered for his friend.

“Sir, are you-“

“Please, just throw them out. Don’t eat of the candy, either,” Harry warned.

“Love potions,” Ron clarified for the nameless memos department worker questioning look.

“Aye, sir. I can toss them for you then but there’s one in particular that is rather large. I was paid directly to ensure that you received it so I really think you ought to-“

“Alright fine, but only if it’s just the one,” Harry grumbled, hand out-stretched.

“Er, well, two,” the man stammered, turning about. He had a trolley with him, all too full with the packages and valentines labelled just for Harry, and retrieved two large boxes both wrapped in a soft pink with a white bow attached. The man left them on Harry’s desk, having him sign a piece of parchment, before hurrying off to destroy the rest of the valentines.

“These are massive, mate! Mind if I?” Ron asked, even though he was already standing and tearing the bow off of one.

Harry looked only slightly intrigued as his friend peeled away the wrapping. Ron found a card and as he was about to open it, it sprang to life and nipped his fingers. He hissed at it, dropping it to the table. Harry laughed and took up the card himself, it was still and allowed him to open it. “Bloody temperamental envelope,” Ron muttered, peeling off the rest of the paper.

Underneath all the wrapping was a plain box but once Ron opened the top of it, it disappeared in a puff of white smoke, as if an automatic vanishing charm had been placed on it. A large bouquet of flowers suddenly sat on Harry’s desk, an assortment of roses, all coloured a deep emerald green.

“Green roses?” Ron furrowed his brows at the odd looking long stems. They were in a clear glass vase with a small, intricate design pressed into it. “That’s certainly…interesting,” he said after a moment.

Though the roses distracted him for a moment, Harry was more interested by the card. He opened it and a few pink hearts fluttered out before popping in midair, Harry blinked at them, straightening his glasses and leaning back in his chair to read it. ‘Because you had the audacity to think I wouldn’t want to see you again…Will you be my Valentine, Harry Potter?’ Harry could almost _hear_ Draco’s smirk through his scrawling ink.

Ron took the card, now that it was free of biting envelopes, quickly reading it. “It’s not signed,” he stated curiously.

“Doesn’t need to be. It’s from Draco,” Harry shortly said, standing up again now with a smile broadening across his face. He tore open the second package, stilling at what he found inside. There was a bit of parchment on top of a neatly folded pile of clothing. Nice, tight slacks, a Slytherin green tie, a white jumper, warm black jacket, shoes and even a pair of socks and a belt.

Ron took the note once Harry was done with it. “If yes, meet me at my restaurant tonight at eight. Wear everything in the box and _nothing_ else. If no…who am I kidding? After last night, I have no doubt it will be yes. See you tonight, Harry, and remember **nothing** else.” Ron reread to himself a few times again as Harry rifled through the clothing and then started lowering himself to his chair, laughing as he did.

“Oh Malfoy, you dirty bastard you,” he swore, grinning like a madman now.

Tossing the parchment to the table, Ron looked at the clothes. “This is some pretty sharp looking stuff but, hey, there’s no briefs in here. He can’t expect you to…Merlin, Harry, that’s bloody disgusting!”

Harry was laughing even harder now at his friend’s horrified expression, wiping the tears from the corner of his eyes. “Is it? I mean, what if Hermione didn’t wear any, how would you feel about that?”

Ron turned beet red, dropping the clothes back into the box. “Your new boyfriend is sick, mate.”

“Mm,” Harry hummed, swallowing his mirthful laughter.

* * *

 

Nerves didn’t find Harry; not tonight. Antonio’s appeared closed when he arrived, five minutes early, and as he tried the door it was locked. Harry stared at it in confusion, backed up to make sure he was in the right spot, and went to try again. This time, a man was opening it up to him. It was Marc, that waiter from the other evening, bowing to him slightly.

“Mr. Potter, sir, please come in. Mr. Malfoy is waiting for you,” Marc announced airily.

“Er, thanks,” Harry stepped in, taking a look around. Draco was behind the bar, wearing a smart collared charcoal shirt and a matching, lighter tie. The lights were dimmed almost completely and there were no sounds coming from the kitchen. No guests, no chefs. Just him, Draco and Marc.

“Please, take a seat, sir,” Marc led him to the only set table, in the center of the room, and though they had the place seemingly to themselves, it was still an immeasurably small one.

On top of it was a maroon coloured rose and Harry touched it curiously before slipping off his jacket, laughing softly to himself. “To drink this evening, sir?”

“I’ve got it, Marc, thank you. Could you retrieve our first courses, if you will?”

“Of course, Mr. Malfoy,” Marc obediently slipped into the kitchen of the restaurant at the back.

Soft, low jazz was playing, not as loud as it would have been if the place was full of actual occupants. “I thought this place would be packed on Valentine’s Day,” Harry commented as Draco came up beside him, leaning down and pecking him. Harry kissed back chastely before Draco smiled, sitting down in the opposite seat.

“It usually is, but not tonight. Tonight it’s just for you and me,” Draco smiled, taking the breath from Harry. “I hope you don’t mind wine. I’ve selected some merlot, it goes splendidly with the courses I’ve chosen for us,” he explained, pouring Harry’s glass before his own.

“I’ll take your word for it and yes, wine is fine,” Harry took a sip of it before leaning on his elbows on the table. Draco looked perfect as always and images of him lying naked before him kept flashing before his eyes and all Harry wanted to do was yank him by the tie and have him on this table, too.

“You look stunning, Harry. I knew those clothes would work wonders on you,” Draco drawled. “Tell me, are you wearing _anything_ else?” he stressed.

Harry found himself smirking, shaking his head in response, taking another sip. “I am only wearing what you gave me, Draco. Nothing else,” he promised.

Something fiery lit up behind Draco’s grey eyes and this time it was Harry’s foot that found his leg underneath the table. The corners of Draco’s mouth twitched but he said nothing as Marc placed their first course in front of them. They dug in quietly, eyes finding one another every few moments as their feet were having a time all on their own out of view. “Did you like your roses?”

“Yes, I did. And this one, too,” Harry said, pointedly gesturing at the maroon one in the center of the table. “To be honest I never took you for a romantic or a nostalgic person. I mean, Slytherin and Gryffindor colours, really?” he teased.

Draco smirked. “So you noticed that, did you?”

“Is this what you do to all your dates? Shag them senseless and romanticize them for a few days?” Harry asked and he meant it jokingly but it came out more insecure than he had hoped.

Draco put his fork down gently and leaned against the table, he looked at Harry intensely, his hands covering his own. “It’s not like that Harry. Not with you,” he stated firmly.

And Harry believed him.

They enjoyed their meal, Harry was more relaxed than he ever had been in his presence and he realized just how hard he could fall for Draco if he just let himself. It was over dessert, that same crème brulee and mousse that the polished bottle of wine was beginning to sink in.

“You know, I’ve never been fucked in a kitchen before but I must say it was delightful.”

Harry coughed into his spoonful of mousse at his blatancy, nearly choking on it. Once he recovered he looked across at him, “It was, wasn’t it?”

“Tell me, Harry,” Draco leaned forward, his finger dipped in the mousse again and this time he had no excuse – they had more than enough clean cutlery for him to use, “Ever been fucked in a restaurant before?”

Harry dropped his spoon entirely this time, his eyes wide as he watched Draco raise his eyebrow and put his finger in his mouth, sucking it slowly, purposefully. He even elicited a small moan as he extracted it. The heat growing in his groin was distracting Harry from dessert and he suddenly very much did want to see what restaurant sex is like. Sensing his thoughts, Draco waved his hand, calling Marc over from his station at the bar.

Draco handed him several muggle notes. “You’re excused for the night, Marc, not to worry about the mess.”

Marc nodded, wishing them both good evening. Draco continued to finger the mousse, slowly licking it off his digit, eyes trained on Harry who stared back, the heat growing. When they heard the click of the door shutting at long last, meaning Marc was finally gone, Harry wasted no time.

Whipping out his wand he locked the door and shut the blinds. Draco was standing before him, his own wand drawn and pointed at a nearby section of tables. Muttering a spell beneath his breath he transfigured them into a bed. “I’m impressed,” Harry admitted, his voice hoarse, “That’s some fine transfiguration.”

“It always was my strong suit, next to potions,” Draco waved it off, tossing his wand to the floor now. When he looked at Harry there was nothing besides affection and desire in his eyes. “And to be honest, as much as I want to have you in the restaurant, I’m too old for fucking on a table twice in a row,” he explained.

Harry laughed, pocketing his own wand and marching over to Draco, wrapping his arms around his neck. They kissed fiercely, the fire between them erupting.

Staggering back from Harry, lowering himself onto the bed Draco gazed longingly up at Harry. “Come here, Harry, let’s see if you really did only wear what I gave you.”

Grinning, Harry obliged. “Consider my obeying your conditions of this evening my Valentine’s present to you, Draco. Happy Valentine’s Day,” he said, joining him on the bed, pressing his body to him.

“Yes, Happy Valentine’s Day _indeed_.”

_Fin_


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is merely a little gift because as per request I have written a sequel to this story called 'Forgive Me'. Please do enjoy and I hope you find the time to read the sequel.

Upon seeing his reflection in his wardrobe mirror, Harry heavily sighed. These dress robes weren't doing him any good. Running a hand through his mussed hair, he tried to tame it to no avail. In his opinion, he looked like absolute rubbish. The dark colour beneath his eyes had disappeared over the past few months, his frown lines much less visible than before, but when he looked at himself he couldn't help but feel as though he paled in comparison to his partner.

"Bloody hell, do we really have to go to this thing?" Ron groaned, edging his way into Harry's room. He stepped behind his best friend, looking at both of them in the mirror, fixing the top of his crooked robes. "Why do they make these things so bleeding uncomfortable?" he mumbled as an afterthought.

Harry grinned half-heartedly at his friend. "You would think they try to make us hate going to them more than we already do," he commented, ducking behind Ron to retrieve his wand from his bedside table. "It's just for a few hours though, thank Merlin."

"Any longer than that and I'm certain I'd turn into a shrivelled up Skrewt," Ron muttered darkly.

"At least it's Luna's wedding, it  _has_  to be...different. Better than Colin Creevey's last year."

"I still can't believe somebody married that annoying little ponce."

Harry hummed in agreement before starting out of the room and down the stairs as he heard his ex-wife shouting for him. His kitchen was in the throes of chaos. Each chair occupied by a child or an individual, the table scattered with numerous beauty products, hair balms, and small snacks for the kids. Rose was glaring petulantly at her mother who appeared uncaring of the eight year-olds attitude as she fixated a shining hair clip on the back of her head.

"Yes, dear?" Harry teased only to receive a cold hard glare in return which nearly made him draw his wand in defence.

"Get your son to comb his hair," she ordered.

"Like that's going to do any good, it'll-"

"Harry," Hermione and Ginny spoke in the same warning tone in unison.

Putting up his hands, he turned to James who was drawing distractedly on a spare bit of parchment at the other end of the table, his eyes rising up to meet Rose's every so often and he would smirk and return to his drawing. "James," Harry called, beckoning him. He led him into the living room, grabbing a spare brush from the table as he did.

"We have five minutes!" Ginny reminded Harry as he disappeared into the next room.

Harry sat on the couch and gestured for James to kneel before him, his back towards him. James did so without question, never defying his father half as much as he did his mother. "Do we have to go, Daddy?"

"It's Aunt Luna, you love Aunt Luna."

"Yes, but it's a wedding. Weddings are boring," he groaned.

"And gross," piped in a second voice. It appeared Rose had been released from her mother's hold and was ready for the ceremony. She wore on a dress identical to Hermione and Ginny's. They were bridesmaids and she was a flower girl. The dresses were a vibrant red, which clashed with the Weasley hair colour, with silver beads in a design about the waist. The men were wearing black dress robes lined with the same red on the inside panels.

Rose plopped down into an armchair far too large for her, fiddling with her hands as she watched James getting groomed. "Yes, but I doubt Aunt Luna's will be boring. She never does anything boring," Harry commented, trying his hardest to cheer up the reluctant children despite his own reservations for the event.

At last, hair brushed, dress robes perfected, the party was ready to make leave for the ceremony. Harry's nerves crept back up on him as he held onto James' hand, waiting for their turns to step through the Floo into Luna's house.

Ron came up beside them, he was holding a timid Hugo at his hip, the very young toddler tugging gently at his father's hair and ear. "So, you said he's going to be there?" he asked beneath his breath, careful not to draw either of the children's attention.

"Unfortunately."

"Unfortunately? You'd think you would be excited to see the bloke," Ron furrowed his brow perplexedly.

"See him in a place I have to pretend I hate him? Gods, it's the first time we've ever been around each other since…" Harry trailed off, chancing a glance down at James who appeared blissfully unaware of the adult conversation.

"Yeah, yeah," Ron covered for him. "It's rotten, mate, but at least you don't have to dance with anybody, you lucky bastard."

Harry grinned at Ron before it was his turn and he stepped into the Floo, gripping onto Hugo tightly. Hugo was small enough to Floo alongside somebody still, however, James had to go in by himself and Harry followed soon after.

On the other side they were immediately greeted with a large crowd. Everybody was bustling about, greeting one another, chattering amongst themselves. There were trays of food and drinks floating of their own accord about the crowd, serving them. The inside of the house was odd as it always had been, rather cramped especially with the amount of people there, but it was left undecorated despite the ceremony of the day.

Once the small group pushed through others, Harry having to dodge numerous attempts at people grabbing his attention where it wasn't warranted, they ended up on the spectacular lawn of Luna's cottage home. There was a rather large wedding tent encompassing a fair proportion of the area, chairs were put into lines in an odd shape, making out a circle around a beautiful altar in the centre of it all. On top of the altar were various instruments; three goblets, three vials, and three bowls.

Even the tent itself wasn't typical to a wedding; it was coloured silver, so much so that the sun glinted off it, nearly blinding all those who weren't underneath it.

The floral arrangement attached to the rows of chairs, sitting on the reception tables in the distance, were certainly an odd bunch of flowers. Harry quickly warned James not to touch them, just in case, as it did appear one or two of those amidst the arrangements might bite any intrusive, wandering fingers. The wedding party – Hermione, Ginny, and Rose – quickly found their way to a smaller set of tents behind the ceremonial area.

Ron and Harry found their seats with their sons, both of them reluctant to sit near the edges. As time went on, at least a dozen people introduced themselves excitedly to Harry. He greeted them with the best smile he could muster, making small conversation when need be. It was five minutes before the ceremony was due to start that he spotted him. Across the circle of chairs, near the back of a distant row, was that unmistakeable flash of platinum hair.

Harry's breath caught in his throat, he felt his heart momentarily palpitate before Ron laid a hand on his shoulder. "Look, his mother came, too," Ron commented. He was right, Draco appeared to be escorting his aging mother. They both appeared impeccable as always, and he wasn't even wearing dress robes. Draco had on him very typical wedding attire – for a Muggle wedding. He wore a perfectly fitted suit, a sleek black colour with white shirt and a silver tie accompanying it. Narcissa wore a light blue dress, it ran down past her feet. They were seated next to an assortment of Slytherins from their year back at Hogwarts including Blaise Zabini and his wife, Pansy nee Parkinson.

"Dad, how long is this thing going to be?" James whined, pulling at the hem of his robes uncomfortably.

"Not much longer, James. It says the reception starts at…" Harry trailed off, fishing in his robes for the folded invitation. "…six. So a half hour."

"Half hour? That's a bloody quick wedding," Ron sighed, clearly relieved. "Thank Godric for Luna."

Harry absently agreed, his eyes searching out across the crowd and persons taking their seats for Draco again. When his gaze landed on him, Harry startled as he found Draco gazing in return, a smirk playing across his features. Crossing his one leg up and over the other, Draco relaxed into his chair and sent Harry a quick wink.

Blushing madly, Harry looked down and away, distracting himself with James again. "Quit playing with them, James," he chided, swatting gently at his hands which were teasing the edge of his robes, "Gin will hex me if I send you back to her with your robes all pulled to bits."

James grumbled but obliged, leaning forward slightly to catch Hugo's attention as he was sitting calmly in his father's lap. Hugo was a very, exceedingly, collected toddler. Harry was amazed at how calm this child always was – much unlike his older sister.

At last the ceremony began. The music was beautiful, in its own way, and much faster than all the wedding hymns Harry had heard before. Rolf came out first, dressed in a red and silver suit. Ron and Harry both had to supress their sniggers, muttering something about Father Christmas, which didn't take long for James to voice the same opinion. Harry couldn't chastise his son for it, neither, Rolf really did look like a much tamer, beardless, young Santa Clause.

Luna appeared second, wearing a brilliant green wedding dress. If you could call it a wedding dress. Their ceremony was peculiar from the start; their vows were said before anything else, they kept pouring sand, water, wine, and other various liquids and solids into one another's goblets and bowls. They lit candles in an odd order and one particular interval there was even singing. Thankfully, however, it had remained under half an hour.

"That was, er, interesting," Ron commented as he and Harry held James and Hugo's hands as they walked with the crowd towards the reception tent.

"See, I told you it wasn't going to be boring," Harry said, turning to James.

"Yeah, but it was weird," he said, scrunching up his face.

They settled in at a table clearly labelled for their party as per the seating arrangements. Ginny, Rose, and Hermione all had to stay at the head table as they were a part of the wedding party. There were three empty seats to their table still, and Harry looked on the card lying in the middle, immediately groaning.

Ron followed his line of sight and frowned at his best friend. "You think she knows?"

"How? Unless either of you two told her, or Draco…which is highly unlikely," Harry mumbled.

"It's Luna, mate, a nargal could have told her for all we know," Ron countered. "Wait a second…" he trailed off. "James, you're not at this table."

Harry became confused but didn't have to question it any longer as the bride of the ceremony suddenly appeared behind his chair. She was smiling brightly, her long blond hair fell well past her shoulders. "Congratulations, Luna!" Harry smiled at her, standing to hug her. Ron did the same, both father's telling their sons to do so.

"What do you think?" Luna asked.

"It's, er, very nice," Ron said nervously, unsure of how he could compliment the peculiarity of her wedding.

"It's weird! Looks like Christmas!" James piped up.

"James!" Harry hissed under his breath and apologetically smiled at Luna who was giggling at the younger boy.

"That's alright, Harry. Everybody is always happiest at Christmas so we wanted to make it look like Christmas," she explained.

Ron and Harry shared a knowing look; that was something Luna would definitely do. "I thought James would have more fun sitting up at the front with Rose," she continued, reaching out for the boy's hand who was quick to grab it.

"Alright, listen to your mother, though," Harry warned as Luna whisked him away.

"Least you don't have to worry about James while he – speaking of the devil," Ron lowered his voice, busying himself with opening the bag he had totted along with him and fishing for a few snacks and small toys for Hugo.

Harry found himself dragging his eyes up to meet the rest of the table who sat themselves down in the four empty seats. Blaise, Pansy, Narcissa, and of course, Draco. Upon closer inspection Draco appeared even more faultless. Draco's eyes burned into Harry as he greeted Ron and Hugo from the corner of his mouth. Harry was certain the other three shook his hand, but he wasn't paying much attention. With James safely at the front of the room and their table tucked into the side, difficult to see them amidst the crowd and the falling light of the day, his attention was rooted on Draco.

When Draco came around the table, he grasped Harry's hand tightly within his own, squeezing it. He rolled his thumb across his knuckles for good measure before letting it go. "Potter," he greeted lowly, sitting in James' vacated seat.

"Malfoy," Harry returned, hoping to mask his quivering nerves. It would be difficult to be so close to Draco, to not reach out and touch him, and to ignore every urge to kiss him.

Conversation started up around them and Harry was surprised that even Narcissa was indulging Ron, and Hugo, in it. She questioned the absence of his parents, he explained they were near the front with the Scamander family. Harry remained quiet for the most part, besides to respond to Ron or Hugo whenever they drew his attention. It was quite the task to pretend Draco wasn't sitting next to him – especially since he could smell the strong scent of his familiar shampoo and cologne. What made it worse for Harry, was when just as dinner was being served Draco's hand dropped below the table, under the cloth, and squeezed his upper thigh.

Harry was startled by the intimate touch but with resistance and a dutiful amount of restraint, he swallowed his urges and pretended as if that hand weren't there at all. Ten minutes into his meal, however, that task was becoming rather difficult and Harry was concerned with how well he would be able to feign innocence. Draco's hand had begun to move, trailing soft circles about the inner part of his leg. Attempting to inch away from him, Draco somehow always ended up closer still, and remained completely nonplussed by the entire interaction, eating his meal delicately with one hand and engaging in pleasant table conversation with his mother and the other two Slytherins across the table.

At dessert, Draco's movements were becoming bolder. His talented fingers had worked their way to Harry's crotch and at first contact the brunet's fork fell from his hand, clattering to his plate sending bits of cake icing about his shirt and place setting. Harry swore beneath his breath, tidying himself and the area up as Draco smirked bemusedly at him. "Having difficulties, Potter?" he drawled teasingly.

Harry's cheeks flamed and he muttered something only Ron and Draco could hear, "Not that you're helping any."

The next bite of cake Harry lifted to his mouth was interrupted once more as the palm of Draco's intrusive hand rubbed into his bollocks. Harry abandoned his dessert altogether at that moment. Ron was looking worriedly at him and leaned across the table, eyeing Draco. "Quit it, Malfoy," Ron warned.

Draco raised a delicate eyebrow. "My apologies Weasel, quit what?"

However, at Ron's glare, Draco's hand did fall away from Harry's lap. "Potter, how is the Ministry?" Blaise Zabini questioned from across the table, unawares of what had just occurred between his best mate and the man in question.

Thankful for the distraction, Harry delved into easy conversation with the ex-Slytherin, Ron coming in and out as well with Narcissa. Draco, however, remained contently silent through-out. "Are you finished with that, Potter?" Draco queried a few minutes later, gesturing to the abandoned dessert.

Harry flushed, his mouth dropping open ever so slightly. 'He doesn't mean to…what would people think, Draco Malfoy eating my leftovers?' he wondered. Much to his astonishment, before he could answer, Draco was pulling Harry's cake towards him.

Before he could delve into it, however, Narcissa was standing from the table, excusing herself. She bid everyone goodnight and beckoned for Draco to follow. Before he left alongside his mother, he leaned over the back of Harry's seat and spoke to the table, however, his breath was ghosting in Harry's ear. "Don't worry, I'll be back."

Harry shivered and sighed, his whole body slouching as soon as Draco disappeared to help his mother to the Floo after bidding the bride and groom congratulations once more. Harry's head fell into his hands as Ron frowned at him. "What's he being such a prat for?" his best friend asked.

Chancing a look at the two remaining Slytherins, Harry felt it safe to speak quietly without them overhearing as they seemed content speaking amongst one another for the moment. "He's been pestering me about coming out lately…and he, uh, he always gets off on…" Harry trailed off, biting his lower lip and looking downcast at the table.

Ron shivered and pulled a disgusted face. "That's enough, mate. You bloody exhibitionists," he mumbled. "No, Hugo, don't eat-!" Ron exclaimed, turning to see his son plopped down on the chair next to him, shoving a whole cherry, stem included, in his mouth. He pried it open and sighed when there was nothing left – it appeared Hugo devoured it quickly and with no difficulties, stem and all. "Your mother is going to kill me for that," he muttered.

Harry relished the minutes that passed peacefully and without disruption – mainly thankful that there was no intrusive, tempting man sitting next to him arousing him without a care. The time was short lived as Draco returned, and perhaps to remain unsuspicious, he sat in his mother's vacated seat next to Blaise. "Your dessert?" Draco asked, gesturing once more.

Shoving it across the table, Harry met Draco's eyes that were glinting mischievously at him. "Mm, thank you, Potter," he drawled, digging into the cake. He did so, however, as if he had forgotten cutlery existed. His finger dipped into the icing and he slowly brought the digit up towards his lips, smirking devilishly before flicking out his tongue. He engulfed his sullied finger into his mouth, sucking on the length of it, and withdrew it slowly, in what Harry could only describe as torturous, and allowed his tongue to run the length of it afterwards for good measure. "Everything tastes so much better like this, don't you agree?" Draco said to the table, though during the entire ordeal his sultry eyes never left Harry's.

"Bloody hell, that's disgusting, Malfoy!" Ron swore but then turning to Harry he swore even more. "Alright, I'd like to keep my eyesight till the end of the evening," he said objectively upon seeing his friends ruffled state of obvious arousal.

Ron had excused himself and Hugo as the dinner was ending and tables of people were beginning to make their way to the dance floor. Draco continued with his ministrations of the icing and his finger a couple of times, Harry trying his hardest to swallow his arousal despite Draco's innocent taunts that steered in his direction every few minutes.

Somewhere along the line, Pansy had dragged her husband towards the dancing crowd, and it was just Draco and Harry left at the table. Draco's foot quickly found Harry's leg and soon wiggled its way onto his lap, intruding once more. Harry hissed in a sharp breath, gripping the edge of the table. "Malfoy, you-"

"Would you like me to stop,  _Harry_? Because from here it feels like you don't want me to," Draco teased, his toes - having discarded his one shoe - flexed up against Harry's growing member.

Harry, both elbows on the table, leaned forward, exaggerating an exhale. "Would you quit it just for a moment?"

An eyebrow disappeared beneath Draco's fringe as his smirk widened, "But it is just so much fun. I must say, it is becoming one of my favourite activities. But," he released Harry's groin from the ministrations of his foot, and toed his shoe on, "If you so wish, I can stop. For a moment."

Harry breathed a sigh of relief, leaning back in his chair, finally able to relax and attempt to calm himself down. He needed to go check on James and he certainly couldn't do it in the state he was in. Draco was coming to a stand, running a hand through his fine hair, smiling brilliantly at Harry now. "This would have been the perfect venue to dance with you, Harry. How unfortunate for you, I know you would particularly enjoy dancing with me," he drawled and was off in the direction of the dance floor.

It took Harry a few minutes before he could stand with confidence and make his way towards the head table where Ginny still was, although childless. She informed Harry that James and Rose had disappeared to the sweets table together, Ron was taken up with Bill, Fleur and Victoire. Harry wandered aimlessly about the reception tents, smiling kindly at those whom acknowledged him and pausing to speak with a few others, including Andromeda who had left Teddy at home by his own request.

Unsure of how much time had passed, but feeling strangely at ease amongst the odd crowd, Harry was interrupted in his round about the tents (pointedly avoiding the dancing area) by Hermione. She came from behind one of the pillars that was holding up one of the smaller areas, she snaked her arm automatically about Harry's elbow, steering him in her direction.

"This is just lovely, isn't it?" Hermione asked wistfully, her eyes were bright and shining almost akin to the Christmas bulbs fixated on the ceiling.

"Mm," Harry noncommittally agreed as he allowed himself to be led by her step.

Hermione cast her friend a sidelong glance, her eyebrows rising. "You seem in a good mood. Ron said you were rather, er, flustered before."

Harry flushed as he looked away from her, biting back his own embarrassment. "He was being a prick," he muttered after a long moment.

Her sharp laugh startled him, causing him to take a misstep which she thankfully corrected before they continued on through the crowd. "That's not what I heard," she returned, waving her hand before he could protest anymore. "Have you been to the dance floor?"

"No," Harry said quickly, Hermione looked over at him curiously. " _He's_  over there being an arse. Or, well," he bit his lip and muttered, "Being bloody wonderful, actually. So," he straightened up, clearing his throat. "With James and about a hundred other strangers here I am going to stay as far away from him as possible."

Hermione shrugged against him, leaning her head ever so lightly on his upper arm like an old comfort. "Wouldn't hurt to look, would it? Besides, you just have to see Ron and Hugo, they are dancing like two snarfalumps together. George, too."

Reluctantly, but without a good enough excuse that Hermione would hear, Harry was all but dragged to the edge of the dance floor in one of the larger tents. The sun was setting behind the landscape now and the music from the band was steadily becoming louder. Hermione pointed out Ron, Hugo, and George who were all dancing exuberantly together in a circle. Hugo was more lit up than Harry had seen him in a while, they could even hear his giggles from where they stood off in the distance.

"He really looks like he's having –" Harry suddenly lost his capacity to speak. His eyes widened to the liking of saucers, his vision tunnelling at one specific individual on the dance floor.

Hermione was shaking him, momentarily concerned, before she followed his line of sight and found herself blushing immensely.

Draco was dancing alone, in the centre of the floor, and it seemed like it wasn't just Harry and Hermione who had become transfixed with him. Besides those distracted by their own dancing, many others kept their eyes transfixed on the blond male, moving as if he were a Veela descendant. Draco was swaying his hips in rhythm to each beat of music, his eyes were closed and he had such a peaceful smile floating across his features. His hair was tousled across his face, his shirttail pulled out, his blazer rumpled from all the moving, and his hands. Merlin,  _his hands_. It was as if he were molesting himself.

With that impeccable Potter-sense, once again, his eyes snapped open and landed directly on Harry. His smile drew into a seductive smirk, he licked his lips and turned about, purposefully waggling his hips to accentuate his arse. Harry couldn't help but stare; where the bloody hell else could he look?

"Wow, Malfoy, uh…" Hermione swallowed a lump in her throat and shook her head. "That's a little inappropriate, don't you think?" she questioned, her tone suddenly authoritarian. "I mean, there are  _children_ here. This is hardly the place to – Ouch! Harry!" she cursed, wrenching her arm free.

At some point, Harry had grabbed a hold of her and squeezed her hard enough to bruise. He looked over at her apologetically, his eyes only bearing to tear away from Malfoy for a moment before they travelled back to him. He was facing Harry again, his eyes locked on him, that devilish smirk in its place. All Harry could do was watch, transfixed like numerous other patrons. He was amazed Draco even had the audacity to dance as he was in public, amongst wizards at least. What if there were a business associate or a Prophet reporter to comment on his lewd behaviour? 'Or maybe you still don't quite know Draco well enough. Maybe he really doesn't care what others think,' Harry considered before his thoughts were torn away by watching the trail of Draco's fingers, tracing a line from his neck, down his side, across to his opposite hip, and-

"Harry! For Godric's sake, are you even listening to me?" Hermione all but shouted at him.

Startled by her, he did finally look away enough to focus on the fuming witch at his side. "Er, what's wrong?"

Hermione huffed. "What's wrong? Could you talk some sense into your  _boyfriend_  about how to act accordingly at weddings?"

Harry blushed deeply and bit his lower lip. Well, he certainly couldn't just walk over there and tell Draco. And he certainly couldn't tell him to  _stop_ , either. No, that wouldn't work because Harry rather enjoyed the view despite the jealousy that bubbled low within him at all the people who also got to see Draco move like that.

A third voice drew Harry permanently from thoughts of Draco. James was there suddenly, tugging at him, smiling sadly. Harry immediately bent down to his knee, ignoring the indignant noise Hermione made behind him, and placed a hand on James' shoulder. "What's wrong, kiddo?"

James frowned at the nickname but shrugged it off and mumbled. "Mum says I have to go home, now. Stupid Delilah is crying," he pouted.

"Hey," Harry said quietly yet firmly, "That's not very nice to say about your sister."

Nodding, James apologized under his breath before hugging his father from the side of his body, as if hesitant to do so. Harry kissed the top of his messy head and told Hermione he would return as he brought James back to his mother. After helping Ginny, Dean, Delilah, and James to the Floo, Harry returned to find Hermione sitting at a table by the edge of the dance floor, morosely watching Draco through narrowed eyes.

"He stopped once he noticed you were gone and just picked it up again," she grumbled.

Harry shook his head, trying his hardest not to give into the temptation to have another peak at the spectacle of the illustrious Draco Malfoy. Especially knowing James wasn't about any longer, who knew how easily he would give into temptation. "I told you he's being a prat," Harry reiterated, about to join her but stopped at the sudden icy glare he received.

" _I'm_  going to go get Hugo and I suggest  _you_  hurry up and stop Malfoy from dancing before somebody starts dancing with him," Hermione insinuated bitterly before taking off towards her husband and son who had been joined by Rose as well now, seeing that James had gone.

Despite knowing he should stop him, once Harry's eyes landed on Draco he couldn't. Not yet, anyway. The music had slowed down, he was swaying, almost as if caught in a wind, and he appeared so at peace to himself. He wondered what other people were thinking about Draco, the ex-Death Eater, the cold-hearted Slytherin, dancing without a care in the world. 'They probably think he's lost the plot,' Harry considered.

Those grey eyes found Harry's again, and so did that breathtaking smirk, and without thought Harry's feet began to travel over towards Draco. The closer he got, the hotter Harry was certain it was underneath the blanket of the tent. He stopped a foot or so away from Draco who had ceased his dancing and was smiling coyly, his arms hanging loosely at his sides. From so close, Harry could take in every curve of Draco's body, the small layer of perspiration on his neck, the wisps of blond hair that fell down the sides of his face…'He's mine.  _All mine_ ,' Harry relished momentarily.

"Can I help you, Potter?" he drawled at last.

Harry held his eyes levelly for a moment, resisting the urge for his gaze to linger down Draco's body again. "I need a word, Malfoy," he said tightly at last and turned on heel, not bothering to check that Draco was following because he knew he most certainly was. With James gone, his friends preoccupied, and the crowd thinning, Harry had no reservations in having his way with Draco out of public sight.

Leading the way through the tents, they were nearly on the outskirts when a gentle hand latched onto Harry's, pulling him to a halt. He was met with the bride of the evening, her eyes as youthful as ever, her lips pulled into a dreamy smile. "Oh, Luna," Harry tried not to sound disappointed. It was  _her_ wedding. "Having a good time? It really is a lovely wedding."

Luna's smile grew, the corner of her lip twitched and she ran her thumb over the back of Harry's hand in a friendly manner. "I just wanted to say goodbye, Harry. Perhaps you could come visit Rolf and I once we return from our honeymoon. We are going to a remote village that lives near the Crumple-Horned Snorkback in Sweden."

"Goodbye, I'm not, er-"

But Luna's smiled merely widened as she released her hand. "Goodnight, Harry."

"Er, goodnight," he mumbled after her as she turned to leave.

For a moment, he had forgotten what he was doing, till a certain blond presence that was very much not Luna appeared at his side. "You had something to say to me, Potter?" Draco breathed, leaning too closely over Harry's shoulder, his lips too near to his ear.

Harry shivered and didn't chance a look at Draco for fear of attacking him right there. Instead, he continued walking at a brisker pace. Finally Harry made his way out of the tents, through the nearly vacant yard and around the narrowly built tower of a house. Nobody was on the eastern side of the home, and there were odd looking plants that enclosed a small yarded area. Harry wasted no time leading the way there, through the plants (ensuring none of them moved or bit) and into a small area against the side of the house that was surrounded with bushes.

Draco joined him, his arms still crossed, his eyebrow raised in his direction, his mouth slowly opening to speak…but Harry didn't let him have the chance. He gripped Draco by his shoulders and shoved him unceremoniously up against the wall.

Harry covered Draco's mouth viciously with his own, claiming them as though they were his prize after a marathon. Draco reacted immediately, opening his lips to Harry's tongue, sliding his own against his lover's. One of Harry's hands kept Draco pinned to the wall, the other began to explore the blond man, running down his sides to the hem of his shirt, and up onto the bare skin underneath. Draco shuddered at the contact of skin against his own, breathing air into Harry's mouth as he did. This only caused Harry to lean against him harder, rotating his hips against Draco's, grinding their growing erections together.

Draco's hands gripped on Harry's hips, urging him to move faster. With being held captive against the wall there wasn't much Draco could accomplish, so instead he lifted up his one leg at an angle to accentuate the pressure at both of their crotches. Harry leaned his head back, gasping for breath amidst the bruising kisses.

"You're so fucking hot," he said, his voice low.

Smirking, one of Draco's hands snaked up Harry's front and to his nipple, teasing it gently between his fingers. "I thought you would enjoy seeing me dance. Did I not say you would?" Draco returned slowly, using the distance between him and Harry to look down their bodies.

As one hand continued teasing Harry's nipple, a second found its way to his behind, squeezing his buttocks before running along the smooth inseam in his slacks. Harry trembled against Draco, his grip on him tightening. "I want to fuck you," Harry said unevenly.

Draco looked innocently about. "Here? Why, can't we just-"

There was a sudden pull at Draco's navel and then he was being shoved against a different wall. A small bit of nausea brewed in his stomach, but as Harry began to chaotically strip him of his clothes, his desire for his boyfriend overtook it. With a quick glance around, Draco gathered they were at Harry's remote home. He smirked at his lover, Draco's lips faltering for a moment as Harry's mouth leaned forward to claim the skin near his collarbone and worked at it mercilessly.

"Couldn't even take me to,  _ah_ , the bed, Potter?" Draco shuddered as Harry's teeth grazed his skin and he was making his way down his body, till he was nearly kneeling, and then back up again, claiming each inch of his skin as though it was his favourite Florentine's flavour that was selling out.

"What good is a bed when I want to fuck you up against a wall, Malfoy?" Harry mumbled between his lips and Draco's skin.

At the sudden images ravaging Draco's mind, his cock twitched pleasantly and he held onto Harry tighter, pulling him up so they were level once more. Draco searched Harry's eyes for a moment, they were clouded with hunger and arousal, his cheeks were tinted pink and his mouth was swollen. 'Gods, does Potter realise how irresistible he looks when he is like this?'

"Mm, is that a promise?" Draco countered finally, his smirk returning as both his hands fell on Harry's arse, rubbing the tender flesh before slipping down the middle as far as they could reach and back up again. Harry's widening eyes and spreading blush further aroused Draco. He pushed off the wall slightly and brought his lips to Harry's neck. As soon as his tongue scraped across his skin, he could hear Harry swallow a strangled whimper.

Draco worked his neck for a few minutes as their hands roamed one another, grabbing, teasing, pinching, and kneading. When Draco pulled away his grey eyes shone with a look that stirred something deep and hot in Harry's belly. With a tight grip on Harry's hips, Draco turned their positions about which did not surprise his lover at all. They often battled for dominance and had a tendency to share it equally, both enjoying to be handled as much as they did the handling.

Harry was about to make a snide remark but he promptly shut his mouth as Draco lowered down onto his knees; Harry's pupils dilating with want and anticipation. At ease, despite being out in the open up against the side of a cottage home, Draco quickly popped open the button on Harry's trousers. But then he stopped entirely, pausing just before he reached in and looked up at his lover, his thin lips pulling together into an even thinner grin.

"You know that dance was all for you, right?" Draco whispered thickly.

Quirking his head to the side Harry said, "I sure hope so." One of Harry's hands slowly slid through Draco's fine hair, the other bracing himself against the side of the home.

Fingers began to trail around the top of Harry's briefs, lightly grazing the skin causing the brunet to shiver at the touch. "You know, if you just told-"

Harry's hand gripped his hair now, squeezing just tightly enough for Draco to wince, his smirk widening. " _Draco_ ," he growled lowly. "I don't much fancy Mrs. Calbot driving past and seeing-ah!" Harry cried as the blond man on his knees reached into his briefs quickly grabbing a hold of his hard prick.

It seemed as though Harry's plea was heard as Draco didn't waste any more time teasing Harry. He first swirled his tongue around his head, tasting his arousal momentarily before he engulfed as much as he could of Harry's cock into his mouth. Draco sucked lightly as he moved up and down, his hand working whatever length of Harry wasn't in his mouth at any given moment.

Pleasure rippled through Harry from his prick to his head and back down to his toes. His entire body tensed and relaxed all at once as Draco closed his eyes as he concentrated all his efforts on Harry's cock. It only took a few minutes before Draco's chin was covered in his own saliva, it was dripping down Harry's leg, and Harry felt his hand tightening in his hair, urging Draco's head forward. He must have been sputtering nonsensically because Draco's movements became more drawn out, he even fully released his cock from his mouth multiple times.

Releasing the throbbing member fully, Draco wiped his mouth and came to a stand before Harry, smiling coyly as he planted either hands on the side of Harry's head. "I do believe you promised fucking me against the wall?" he drawled.

Harry, nearly reduced to the nattering state of a newt due to desire for his lover, quickly changed their positions again and reached down to undo Draco's trousers. Having removed Draco's slacks and briefs, Harry ordered him shakily, "Get up."

Draco raised an eyebrow at the request and stilled. Harry seemed impatient as he gripped Draco's hips so tightly there would be residual bruises. He hoisted Draco up with difficulty and once Draco caught on he used the leverage of his back against the wall and Harry's strength to pull himself up onto Harry – his legs wrapped just above his hips, his bare arse sitting just above Harry's cock which prodded up into him.

With a quick summoning and lathering of lubrication, Harry didn't even ask Draco if he were ready as he steadied himself, pushing Draco between his body and the wall to make holding him an easier task. As soon as his cock entered Draco's tight orifice, Harry's breath drew in sharply. He took his time entering him as Draco seemed to tense and shiver against the touch. With Harry's cock was buried fully in Draco, the blond gasped.

Shakily, Harry smirked at his boyfriend, just enough distance away from his face to watch his pleasure wash over him. "Right there?" Harry asked lowly, pulling out slightly and back in again with vigor.

Draco cried that time, gripping onto Harry's shoulders. "Yes," he breathed, "Right- _fuck_!" he was cut off as Harry drove into him again, hitting the same spot inside of his arse. Distracting himself from the over stimulation as Harry picked up his pace, sweat beading down from his fringe, Draco craned his neck forward enough to capture his lips. Their kiss was messy, teeth knocking together, lips smacking, their tongues shoving unceremoniously against one another, but it appeared to enthuse Harry who pushed harder into Draco.

When Harry pulled back from Draco's lips to catch his breath, he looked down his lover's body, appreciating it, moving faster and harder into him and groaning against his lips. "Potter, fucking Merlin you-" Draco's voice was strangled, rough, and he could hardly concentrate on finishing his sentence. Draco threw his head back against the side of the house, closing his eyes and running his hands down from Harry's shoulders down his chest and landing on his own prick, gripping it.

After only three hard strokes, Draco was coming against his abdomen and Harry's chest, the sticky liquid splashing against their skin. Draco's orgasmic cries and the tensing of his muscles sent Harry into overdrive, pounding him harder up against the wall. He soon followed Draco's orgasm, pulsing liquid into him, filling him, and clenching his teeth so hard he was certain his jaw would break.

Breathing heavily and sweating, Harry released Draco from his hips and fell against the wall beside him. Cleaning them both, pulling his trousers up and assisting Harry with his own, Draco soon straddled a slumped over Harry whose legs were sprawled out, his back against the wall. He pressed a few feathering kisses to his lips, across his jaw, down his neck, and back again, until he leaned back grinning.

"You kept your word this time," he said, causing Harry to chortle. "You usually take so long fulfilling your promise of… _fulfilling_ me that I end up fucking you senseless."

"I'm pretty sure you still did," Harry mumbled, his eyes half-lidded, smiling lazily at the smug look on Draco's face. "Next time, let's make it to the bedroom," he suggested as an afterthought.

"You were the one who apparated us, you bloody voyeur," Draco teased playfully.

"Hm, you're fault for what you were doing at the wedding."

"Oh? So, piss you off in public and I get this in return? I'll need to keep that in mind," he bemused.

Harry laughed. "You're such a prat. And I'm too old to be having impromptu sex against the side of my house," he added.

Draco nearly closed the distance between them again, his lips lingering just before Harry's. "But you loved it."

"Yeah, I did," Harry mumbled an agreement as he kissed Draco firmly.  _'I love everything when I'm with you_ ,' Harry thought absently, and realising how much that thought horrified him, he quickly swallowed it and kissed Draco again.


End file.
